


Understand

by Mister_Rat



Category: Over the Hedge (2006)
Genre: Age Difference, Coming Out, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Family Feels, Gen, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Male Slash, Sometimes Crossover, These Two Deserve the World, Unconventional Families, sometimes AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:36:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mister_Rat/pseuds/Mister_Rat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When I saw you, I fell in love and you smiled because you knew."-William Shakespeare. </p><p>Rated for some dark and suggestive chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bold

**Author's Note:**

> I own no characters or elements of Over the Hedge. They belong to Michael Fry, T. Lewis, and DreamWorks.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation between Ozzie and Vincent reveals more than the possum expects.

Oswald Osborne.

That is my full name for those of you who don't know me; my friends and family know me as Ozzie.

I'm one of the forest animals residing in the last bit of wilderness in Rancho Camelot Estates, more precisely the possum that has perfected playing dead to an art-form...not that it does me much good right now. In fact, I'm starting to see what my daughter and my partner warned me about being overreliant on it.

Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do to remedy that mistake at the moment. With the nearest of my family miles away and me under the baleful eye of my overweight captor, it's a safe bet I won't be going anywhere anytime soon.

How long have I been missing anyway? A few hours, I surmise, on account of the fact there was still some light out when Vincent snatched me away. Why he hasn't eaten me yet, like I expected him to, I'm still in the dark about, although I have hazarded the apparent notion of revenge among other theories.

 _'At least I haven't been digested yet,'_ I admit as I stare out at the moon from the entrance of the cave, seated on my haunches with my arms on my knees, _'Hopefully I'll remain that way.'_

"Yo, possum, fetch me that can of Spuddies."

On the other hand, I also intend not to lose my dignity as a prisoner. Just because he's stronger than me and could outrun me if I tried to escape is no reason for me to be his throw pillow. Alas, my mouth proves faster than my rationality. "I'm not your servant, Vincent. Procure that can yourself."

"What was that?" he replies in a dangerously low tone.

"I said," I repeat like the fool I am without looking back, my words slow and patronizing like I'm speaking to a child, "'procure that can yourself.'"

That's another problem I have: even before RJ, I've always had a part of me that ignores my sense of self-preservation. Ninety percent of the time, I can control it. Every time someone jabs at my pride, however, like Vincent just did, that mellow and meek shell of mine starts tearing off. And God, it tore off so quickly this time I barely noticed.

Because of that, I suddenly find myself dangling by the tail above that brute's sneering deathtrap of a maw, his yellow irises flashing with too much joy to be healthy. There's no fear in me, though; only a deep calm defiance. Don't bother asking me why; I can only assume all that time spent with RJ rubbed his boldness onto me. I'm not sure if I should be grateful for that.

"You got some nerve defyin' me, possum."

Resisting the urge to gag proves difficult. Ugh, dear Hippolyta, his breath is foul.

"It's Oswald, _bear_."

That snarky response of mine gets Vincent narrowing his eyes at me—not a good sign. I still refuse to be pushed around, even if doing so means becoming the main course. I'm not the weak little man I once was, so yes, I am definitely grateful RJ's boldness rubbed onto me.

I am also going to slap that raccoon senseless for rubbing his boldness onto me once I get home—if I ever survive to _see_ home.

Fortunately, that becomes a distinct possibility when Vincent unceremoniously dumps me onto the unforgiving stone floor of his den. I'm still in one piece, thank God, but I can tell Vincent dropped me on my posterior like that on purpose to get his point across without ending his 'fun' too soon, evident when that uncouth ursine huffs and smirks in amusement at my discomfort.

"I liked you better when you were as spineless as the rest of those twerps."

"Well, sorry to disappoint, my good man," is my dignified and unhesitant retort. Resisting the urge to shout at this thug for insulting my kin takes all of my willpower. When I finally manage to sit up despite the soreness in my rear, I shift my eyes up at Vincent in wonder. "So is that it? Do I have permission to leave now or would you like for us to continue this inane conversation until daybreak or until my family comes to pick me up?"

That question earns me a toothy growl but I refuse to stand down. Monsters gain power through intimidation so whatever he does to me, I'll never give him the satisfaction of seeing my— Hang on, why is he peering at me like I'm a tree or piece of fruit he can't identify all of a sudden? He shakes his head at me, long and slow, his hands gesturing out at me as if I'm some unknown concept he can't grasp.

"How the hell did ya end up with someone like RJ?"

His question has piqued my curiosity. He had to have spied on us for a while to know RJ and I were together, a highly discomforting notion to say the least. I finally allow my façade to slip a little and gaze at him through mystified eyes, unsure if there's an angle here. "What do you mean by that?"

A pig-like snort escapes Vincent before he rolls his eyes at me and darkens his glare even more than before. "Why the hell would you choose a squirt like that for a mate?"

I have been through plenty of shocking moments in my life, some of which still haunt me to this very day. Unfortunately, none of them could have prepared me for this one. And when I'm unprepared my hidden temper tends to comes out yet who could blame me in this case?

How dare this thug sink so low!

"Now see here, young man," God, that sounds bizarre in this context, "that 'squirt' is a wonderful mate and you have no right to judge him when you lack even the faintest idea of how kind and caring he's been to my family, particularly to our daughter."

Yes, I just said 'our daughter.' If that doesn't reveal how real my feelings for that amazing raccoon are, then I'll simply scourge the ends of the earth to find out what will. "And besides, you've most likely lived the majority of your life by yourself, so you're hardly any proper authority on what constitutes a true mate!"

Vincent is so quiet now...deathly quiet. That scares me far more than the threat of being dinner did, impossible as that sounds.

No, I'm still not running away; I'm still standing here, arms crossed and face scrunched in a glare. Running would definitely be the smart thing do and yet...something is keeping me here, urging me to stick around for whatever will happen next.

I don't fancy waiting around for no reason, though. No words, hmm? Very well, I've wasted enough time here.

Just when I'm on the verge of departing from this godforsaken cave, unwilling to play this bear's game any longer, Vincent drops posterior-first onto the ground. His glare doesn't even seem to register my presence anymore. It's as if he's staring off at something else...

I gasp when I recognize that gaze. How could I not when it had haunted my reflections every day after my wife died? My head shakes at the mere thought—the idea—that this scoundrel could have been someone's husband once, that he and I once shared something in common.

That simply couldn't be possible...right?

"Really..." the solemn tone in his voice startles me, despite the hollow chuckle covering it in vain, "you think I don't know exactly what you mean, possum?"

No, don't soften your face, Ozzie. Keep silent. Keep your face neutral and attentive.

"My wife and son meant more to me than anything else in this goddamn world," Vincent shakes his head, his voice low and even (I can still hear the pain regardless), "so I lost everything when those humans in the orange suits killed them. I failed them and there ain't no bringin' 'em back."

Nothing reaches my mind. Nothing escapes my lips.

His eyes don't lie. They truly don't.

For one hot second, sympathy floods me. It floods me and for a moment I feel like I'm staring into a mirror, a mirror melded from memories so warped together I almost let the sting in my eyes give way to tears so that my distorted other can feel something close to the comfort he once knew.

Then I recall who I'm dealing truly with.

That flood evaporates as quickly as it came. My body stiffens, my chest puffing out from daring bravado. I wonder if this is how Hamlet felt facing Laertes. "Do you intend to do the same to mine?"

His sharp eyes pierce into mine, his yellow trying to melt the resolve in my ice-blue. He never succeeds and we both that know that, which is why after what feels like eons he eventually stands back up with a sigh, waving a shooing paw at me.

"Just get outta here already, possum. Get back ta yer cosy termite heap in the woods so you snuggle up to yer sappy family." He made sure to sound as mocking as possible at the end. Somehow that action brings the pity flooding back even harder than before.

My feet bring me one step closer to Vincent and not a step more, his eyes never daring to meet mine. "I see your killer instincts aren't what they used to be. Perhaps they're saying they've had enough isolation"—my voice beats his to a retort—"and don't mistake my advice as sympathy. I haven't forgotten the cruelty you wrought upon my family, especially on RJ. Consider my attempt more as an unspoken duty, from one heartbroken husband to another."

A scoff escapes Vincent at my assurance. I expected no less. "Are you always this sentimental? Cuz if you are, I don't know how RJ stands it."

"Oh he manages." A faint glimmer of concern touches my face. "Speaking of whom, I have to get home before Verne tries to send him six feet under for Lord knows what. So if that is all, then I shall bid you adieu. Thank you for...not eating me."

Vincent scoffs again. "Whatever."

And just like that, I'm gone. But not before I pause to look over my shoulder; Vincent still refuses to look my way.

He can't fool me.

I know I've struck a chord that's been in disuse for years.

My only expectation, almost hope, as I walk away is that he's willing to take the risk of contact.

Time can only tell. Fate is out of my hands now.

Besides, I've been gone long enough. I have a spouse and child to return to, and a bright future to share.


	2. Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozzie has a few choice words to share with RJ about Heather, only to receive a surprising response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, more slash; eat it or leave it. I only own this story, not the characters or elements in here.

Back and forth...back and forth...back and—what the hell?!

 _'Okay, that's it!'_ RJ griped to himself, his anger obvious in his vice grip on the wood beneath him. He'd had enough of watching the possum in front of him wear a hole into the ground!

Here the raccoon was, sitting on this unforgivably hard stump for over an hour (at least it felt that way to him) instead of sitting in his favorite (and might we add, comfy) armchair watching his favorite action movie with the rest of his family. Seriously, he was missing some serious butt-kicking right now!

Then again, if Ozzie, the one who asked him to come out here in the first place, didn't start talking soon, then there was going to be plenty of butt-kicking after all.

"I'm sure you already know why you're out here, correct?"

 _'Ugh, finally he speaks!'_ Mouthing a silent hallelujah, RJ popped his back, having slumped for so long, and then leaned back on his hands, his eyes full of impatience. "Not particularly"—he perked up his masked eyebrow in a teasing manner—"unless this is about the Twinkies you were saving up last night cuz if it is—"

"What are your intentions with my daughter?"

RJ blinked for a few seconds, completely caught off guard by the question. He then dug his fingers into his ears as if doing so would help his hearing then removed them and blinked again at the older mammal. "I'm sorry. Excuse me?"

Arms crossed, Ozzie released a chagrined sigh then rubbed his left fingers to his left temple. Jokes were not something the possum was in the mood for (even though RJ had not been kidding this time around). His eyes became even more critical as they refocused on the baffled raccoon.

"What I mean is that Heather and you have been getting close— _too_ close, in my opinion. I want an answer: is your relationship with her wholesome or isn't it?"

Much to the possum's further frustration, RJ blinked once again, looking not too different from a goldfish out of water...or maybe Verne watching an episode of _Modern Family_. "Excuse me?"

You could almost hear the veins in a certain marsupial's neck starting to pop.

 _'Deep even breaths...deep even breaths...'_ Ozzie repeated this mantra in his head, eyes closed and middle fingers joined with thumbs meditative style, until he was most certain his temper had cooled down...or so he hoped. He opened his eyes with a chillingly calm smile and placed his palms together, his tone of voice a little too controlled to be comforting. "Let me try this from another angle: RJ...do you care about my daughter?"

The answer to that question (to RJ anyway) should've been obvious. He shrugged his shoulders easily, almost looking offended at the inquiry. "Heck yeah, I care about her, about as much you do."

Ozzie took a step forward, head tilting to one side and still-together hands pointing both index fingers out at the raccoon. "And do you accept the fact that there will be times when you will be required to drop whatever you're doing and come to her aid when necessary?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," RJ held his hands out to get his friend to slow down; this conversation was starting to get out of hand, "do you honestly _not_ think I'd do everything I can to save that kid?"

Ozzie gripped his forepaws into a single fist. His teeth began to show as he growled, "Well then, how about in the event she has an unplanned pregnancy, hmm? Would you _still_ be willing to help her?"

Forget offended, RJ was downright hurt now. He sat up rather than shot up, not angry enough to hurt Ozzie (not that he'd ever strike the elder mammal anyway) yet certainly angry enough to put a stop to this crap. "Okay, Ozzie, what the hell? What's with the fourth-degree? You're making this sound like I'm your daughter's boyfriend for corn's sake!"

"OF COURSE, I'M MAKING THIS SOUND LIKE THAT! YOU SPEND SO MUCH TIME AROUND HER BEFORE BEDTIME EVERY GODFORSAKEN NIGHT, WHAT ELSE WOULD I THINK?!"

Things got real quiet after that.

Ozzie was panting like a rabid dog, up to his ropes with whatever sick and twisted game he suspected RJ to be playing.

And RJ...was standing as still as a statue, as blank-faced as one, too... until his brain finally managed to register the implication behind the possum's words.

Whatever response Ozzie expected, he doubted it involved the raccoon pulling off the same kind of face one gets from watching someone guzzle down a bucket of rancid mayonnaise. Good Lord, the poor guy looked ready to puke! He suddenly staggered away, resisting his gag reflex as best as he could, direly struggling to block out the gutter-level thoughts Ozzie just lodged into his brain.

_'That guy...really thinks that me and Heather...ugh! I can't believe I actually—'_

"RJ, hold it!"

Dare the masked forager look back? He'd rather not meet the possum in the eye right now, especially if that old pervert had any other brain-bleach worthy quotes to share. He did stop, at least. Why, he had no freaking idea.

In the meantime, Ozzie was just as beside himself, though understandably for different reasons. Why on Earth was RJ acting so vehemently to the idea of being with Heather? _'I know I'm against the idea of her being with a boy, but I was only trying to make RJ understand my point of view. What in God's name has gotten into him?'_

He placed his hand on RJ's shoulder and shook it in an attempt to get the raccoon to look at him. "RJ...? RJ! Listen, I apologize that my interrogation rattled you that much but you need to understand—"

His companion cut his explanation off when he suddenly swiveled around and fixed upon him a half-lidded, unamused, 'I-am-so-done-with-your-shit' glare.

If any moment around RJ were a proper time to faint, now would be perfect. In fact, Ozzie would've most surely fainted if RJ, wise to his habits, hadn't grabbed him by the wrists and pulled him in close enough so the two of them were chest to chest.

What could Ozzie say at this point? He'd never seen RJ so serious, so livid...so hurt. Not even the incident with Vincent ever made him look like this.

"You really think those are my thoughts whenever I look at Heather?" His face softened into what appeared to be his usual snarky countenance yet Ozzie sensed something off in RJ's eyes...something sharp and aggressive. It made the opossum gulp. "Alright then, Daddy Marsupial, allow me to show you how wrong you really are."

Before Ozzie could demand an answer, RJ slapped his own lips onto his! The kiss wasn't deep yet electricity coursed through the older mammal's body just the same!

This was wrong. This should've felt so wrong! So why was Ozzie not pushing RJ back but rather holding onto him like a drowning sailor to a lifeline?

RJ left him no more time to ponder when he pulled back, both men breathing shallow, his smile at the wide-eyed possum bittersweet before he let go and backed away. "There, am I clear now?"

When the raccoon started to walk away, Ozzie took a step forward, one hand reaching out as his voice trembled, "RJ, wait!"

Though the exclamation stopped him in his tracks, RJ shook his head no. "I get it. You think I'm too young to be with you, even though there's only at most a ten-year gap between us. I never had a family before you guys, but I also never got to start one either. There never seemed to be much hope for that second part since nobody ever caught my eye. Then you and your daughter came swinging into my life. I only saw Heath as the kid I never got to have—that's how I'll always see her. She's my little girl too, ya know, and I would never, _ever_ , do anything to hurt her on purpose."

Then he was off again.

Panic seized Ozzie. Guilt mocked him. He hurried his steps. Dirt couldn't compare to how low he felt this instant.

"No please, listen to me! I'm sorry I misjudged you so harshly and unfairly! I was trying to look after my family...but I failed to realize that's what I should've been doing for you as well. RJ...," he got down to one knee, "please...please forgive an old man and his foolishness."

With a petulant sigh, RJ turned around to face the possum, head shaking again and face set into a deep frown. His face softened once he finally noticed the tears in Ozzie's eyes, realized how pained the older (and at that moment, admittedly cute) mammal truly was.

Maybe a second chance wouldn't be so bad of an idea, not that RJ would have let his crush carry on like this. He always hated seeing Ozzie cry.

Walking up to him, RJ got down to one knee as well, put his hands on the possum's shoulders, and started to gently shake him. "Oh c'mon, man, show a little dignity," he softly admonished, "Ya can't expect yourself to make things up to me if you're being more dramatic than usual, right?"

What had been sheer lament storming in Ozzie's eyes soon began to clear with hope as he gazed up at RJ. That was all the answer the raccoon needed. Feeling progress for the first time since this kooky conversation began, he let a genuine smile take over his face.

"Alright, listen," the masked animal sat down beside his sniffling friend and slung an arm around him, inviting the other mammal to seat himself as well, "First off, I'm gonna buy you a lovely dinner—no wait, that's not right. Let me start over. First, you're gonna buy me a lovely dinner..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the Modern Family references! XD


	3. Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his daughter departs for college, Ozzie takes time at a local café to reflect on his life when he is interrupted by a strange biker, who may be more than he appears to be. Human AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only own this story. All the characters in it belong to DreamWorks and those two guys who wrote the Hedge comics. Sorry in advance, by the way, if the humanizations confuse you. Just one of my tries at stepping out of my comfort zone.

_Hey Dad:_

_Sorry if this letter took a while to get to you. I’m still getting used to my new address._

_Things at college are going okay, I guess. It’s nothing like high school, I can tell you that: the professors want a lot more out of me and I might need a part-time job just to catch up with the expenses for my apartment. I’m not too sure if I’m going to make it here but I’m not quitting, just like you taught me. My roommate’s pretty cool, though, and she’s even got almost all the same classes as me so it’s not all bad._

_Anyway, how’s everything at home? Are classes going okay for you? I sure hope so. I remember how you used to complain about some jerks who weren’t taking you and your lessons seriously. If that’s happening again, just give me a call and I’ll come right on down to straighten those losers out._

_Love,_

_Heather <3_

_P.S: Please don’t be watching those videos of me as a baby. I don’t care if I’m not around to see them; they’re still embarrassing and I don’t wanna come by for Christmas and catch you winding your way through them over and over again._

* * *

 

 _‘Oh Heather, sweetie, your wit hasn’t dulled one bit,’_ mused with a chuckle a tall, bespectacled and sharply dressed forty-three year-old man with short, neatly combed salt-and-pepper hair and a closely cropped full beard as he stuffed the letter back into a white envelope and slipped the envelope in return into the left pocket of his khaki slacks.

He leaned back into his lacquered oak seat, the periwinkle blazer draped over its back cushioning him, as his left hand fought back an approaching yawn. Today had been tiring, rewarding yes but still tiring. Fortunately, a college-age boy in a waiter’s uniform appeared not too long after, his pencil and notebook at the ready.

“Hey there, sir, welcome back to Camelot Café! The usual I wager?”

The gentleman smiled amusedly. This young man knew him all too well. “Why yes, Hammy, an Irish Crème Latte and chocolate biscotti, please...”

“Alright,” the waiter chirped with an eager grin as he finished copying the order down into his notebook, “I’ll be back with your order in no time, sir. Hang tight!”

The elder male grinned at the young employee’s spunk, forcibly reminded of some of the students in his drama class and (with a nostalgic pang) his daughter. As soon as the worker dashed away, the gentleman stole a look out of the huge window next to him.

He could see the emerald hills and forest far beyond the quiet asphalt road, the setting sun contrasting against a pale red and tangerine sky and coating the rural landscape in a shimmering gold. Oh, this view was always so breathtaking, he never found himself growing bored of it.

Almost subconsciously, his fingers started tapping in rhythm with the smooth jazz that permeated the atmosphere, his head bobbing at an identical pace. Classical music was respectful and elegant but something about jazz allured him in ways even Bach and Mozart could never hope to match.

It helped that few customers occupied the café at this time of day. Most folks in this part of town would either be attending evening classes or commuting home after a long day of work. This man had the privilege of teaching classes just a hop and skip away from this establishment, so traffic mattered little to him and, besides, he needed the exercise.

 _‘Now then, where did I put that book?’_ he wondered as his hands hunted through the interior of his black suitcase. His frowning lips upturned once his fingers met the familiar feel of leather. _‘Ah, there you are.’_

Pulling his copy of _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ out and skipping over to the page that contained his George Benson bookmark, the gentleman began to indulge himself in the four-way drama and Puck’s tomfoolery, smiling at the antics he knew would follow in the next act...

**_VROOM! VROOM!_ **

Quiet split in two at the continuous noise along with the man’s sense of calm. _‘What on earth is that racket?’_

He shot a glare out the window to pinpoint the source of that obnoxious sound and soon spotted a red-and-black Harley Davison motorcycle parked outside beside the sidewalk, the dismounting lean leather-clad rider turning it off (much to the gentleman’s relief) and chaining it to an adjacent bike rack. Removing his helmet, the biker revealed wavy brown hair that extended down his tanned face into heavy sideburns. A faint five-o’clock shadow and soul patch became noticeable as the biker strolled up to the doors and threw them open like he owned the place, startling customers and workers alike.

The gentleman tsked at the flagrant lack of decorum. _‘I honestly hope he doesn’t keep that behavior up the whole time he’s here. People come here to relax, not party. I must admit, though, I do envy his appearance and vigor.’_ He shook his head, willing to put the stranger (and those strange afterthoughts) out of mind. _‘Oh well, as long as he’s nowhere near me, I think I’ll survive.’_

Indeed, other than the biker’s off-kilter entrance, no other sound disrupted the flow of jazz that continued to play. That fact, the gentleman took great comfort in, so without further ado he returned to reading his book.

Except it was no longer in his hands. He had to do a double-take to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. No, he wasn’t; the book was dead sure gone. How though? He hadn’t even felt it leave his hold!

The sound of someone’s fingers flipping pages caught the gentleman’s ears, causing him to jerk his head up immediately. He frowned in pure irritation at the biker, who was sitting right across the table from him and skimming through the pilfered book, his half-lidded eyes tracing the words with apparent disinterest.

“So, Shakespeare, huh,” the younger man suddenly asked, never taking his eyes off of the current page, “cool guy, funny too, although he’s kinda antique for me. I’m more of a modern literature dude myself.”

When the biker finally looked up, revealing his eyes for the first time, the gentleman almost jumped at how deeply blue the irises were. Could he be gazing into the unyielding depths of a vibrant sea, an expanse of mystery teeming with energy and life...or perhaps a clear summer sky brimming with the calls of mourning doves?

Either way, so deep into his poetic reverie, he registered his book with a confused stare once he noticed it back in front of him where it belonged. His eyes lifted back up only to see the biker fixing him with a smirk and still half-lidded stare.

“Dude, do you space out like that on everybody, or am I just lucky?”

Shaking his head with a posh scoff and clasping his hands together on the table, the gentleman settled a cool countenance on the biker, resisting the ever so tempting urge to glare. He never liked having others touch his possessions without his permission, so that stranger had already crossed the line in his opinion.

“My good man, I would rather you leave me in peace and attend to your own matters. Otherwise I might end up involving the authorities, and I am quite certain you would rather avoid that scenario.”

If he expected that suggestion to intimidate his unwanted associate (and he did), he was sadly mistaken. In fact, the biker only enlarged his smirk even more, which irked the gentleman even further. The biker crossed his arms over his chest, leaning them on the table, and chuckled. “Buddy, you need ta chill. If ya want some peace, why didn’t ya just say so?”

The glower he received said everything.

“Alright, alright,” the biker replied in a nonchalant drawl with raised hands, “I know when I’m not wanted; just wanted to strike up a conversation.”

And just like quickly as he appeared, the biker stood up and left. The gentleman put a hand to his temple in relief. _‘Thank goodness that’s over.’_

Even better, the waiter from before arrived with his order and set it down in front of the man. “There you are, sir!”

“Oh thank you, young man,” the gentleman said with a grateful smile. His voice carried somewhat of a sigh, which he hoped the waiter didn’t notice. Thankfully, the waiter merely returned the grin, although he _did_ look in the direction the biker had left soon after, much to his customer’s interest. “I see ya already met RJ, by the way!”

“RJ?” the gentleman queried with a blink before his eyes widened in realization, “Oh, you must be referring to that fellow from just now. Well, he was quite intrusive. I had half a mind to call the police on him for harassment.”

Unexpectedly, the waiter snorted. “You and just about every other customer...”

 _‘Me and every other customer...?’_ Curiosity had the professor in its grasp. “I...beg your pardon?”

Looking over his shoulder first, Hammy regarded his customer with a sympathetic smile as he whispered, “Believe me, sir, you’re not the only one whose bad side RJ’s stoked. Heck, the manager and older employees could count down right to the second when that guy ticks someone off. That’s how well they know him. _I_ know this because my dad went to high school with that guy and told me all about the trouble he caused. Seeing him for myself, I’m surprised RJ isn’t a celebrity at the police station.”

Eyes expanding out even more from amazement, the gentleman risked a peek over at the bar in the center of the café, where the biker—RJ—could be seen chatting it up with a lovely round redheaded woman seated next to him. The gentleman narrowed his eyes at the scene, unwilling to disregard the waiter’s words yet unsure just how accurate those claims were. In fact, RJ appeared to be a fairly decent fellow compared to his previous behavior if the young lady’s laughter and smiles were anything to go by.

 _‘There’s not much else I can decipher about him at this point. At least he looks somewhat harmless.’_ Regardless, the gentleman waved a dismissive hand at the worker in order to have some alone time, “I’ll see for myself, thank you.”

“Suit yourself, sir,” the waiter shrugged his shoulders before departing, leaving his customer to ponder on what to do next concerning RJ. Said customer sighed in resignation, figuring to let bygones be bygones. After all, he finally got his desired solitude, hadn’t he?

So how come, as he watched RJ and the woman laugh over something, he felt like the odd man out? Those two _did_ seem to be having oodles of fun over there...far more than him, that’s for sure.

Suddenly Shakespeare no longer held appeal anymore. Casting his book off to the side, the gentleman resorted to sipping his drink, hoping to drown this strange sense of melancholy bubbling in his stomach.

“You could join us, ya know,” a familiar voice pointed out from out of nowhere, startling the gentleman before he could reach for his biscotti. Lo behold, who else should meet his icy-blue stare than RJ? The biker held back a chuckle at the shyness that suddenly overcame his associate’s face. “C’mon, man, Abby and I won’t bite, honest!”

The gentleman stared at the biker in shock, wide-eyed and mouth agape. He pointed a finger at RJ and then to himself, incredulous. “You’re...inviting me? _Me_...? We hardly know each other!”

RJ shrugged his shoulders as if to say ‘why not’. “I know. That’s why I’d like to get to know you better. I can respect wanting alone time every now and then, but ya can’t be on your own _all_ the time!”

The tone rather than the words struck a chord in the elder man; nervousness took over again when he broke eye contact to gaze downcast, swirling around the biscotti in his Irish Crème. “Some people find being alone easier.”

After all, that’s how his social life always worked, right?

Ever since childhood, he could never make friends easily; even nowadays, his relationships with his colleagues were...stark, for lack of a better term. Oh, he could converse with them when work required him to yet he could never bring himself to accept their invitations to get-togethers. He knew he only had himself to blame but old habits die hard. He had always been timid, that lost child who preferred to whittle the days away in the library with Macbeth and Hamlet instead of out in the sun or in the cafeteria, so it was no wonder he’d been an easy target throughout his youth.

Adulthood and college eliminated the bullying, thank goodness, but the teasing was another story. He let those memories go with a cleansing sigh once he realized the depressive turn his thoughts were taking. _‘I’m still breathing and I even have a well-paying job so I must be doing something right, which must mean there’s no need for me to change.’_

“Besides,” he met RJ’s eyes and forced out a weak chuckle, “You and your friend don’t want an old fossil like me hanging around you.”

“Pft, please, you are the farthest example from ‘fossil’ I’ve ever seen! Just look at that suitcase,” RJ gestured an open palm at the mentioned object, “who even bothers carrying around those things anymore? And that book you were reading—a classic, man! The moment I saw it, I knew you weren’t the kind of guy to get suckered by the kind of junk that passes for best-sellers nowadays.”

Blinking twice in shock at the rider who never left as he expected him to, the gentleman cleared his throat to regain his composure. “Mmm...I will admit, today’s literature can be rather lacking, although there _is_ the occasional novel that glimmers like an oasis in a desert of mediocrity. You only need to know where to look.”

“See? That’s exactly what I mean! That’s not something I’d ever expect from some everyday Snooze-ville flake. You, my good man, _you’ve_ got that special something, something that sets you totally apart from the rest of these chumps...well, minus Abby and yours truly, of course.”

The gentleman looked away again, only this time to ponder over RJ’s words. He felt so...flattered. Yes, sometimes he’d receive the occasional compliment from a student or colleague or a word of encouragement from his daughter, but what this fellow had said...it brightened the gentleman’s world so considerably.

How RJ pulled such a feat off, the gentleman may never understand yet found himself not caring in the least.

“Who knows? Perhaps you’re right.” Straightening up in his seat, he cleared his throat before nervously sticking his hand out for RJ to shake, a hopeful smile stretching across his cheeks. “I apologize for misjudging you earlier, RJ. I’m so used to being a recluse and keeping others at a distance I—“

A firm grip on his hand lodged him out of his apology.

“All the more reason for you to hang out with us; say, what’s your name, by the way, cuz I’d rather not call you ‘Old Dude’ the whole time.”

Resisting the urge to chuckle, the gentleman drew his hand back. “It’s Oswald, Oswald Osborne. But please, just call me Ozzie. If you ever call me Mr. Osborne, I’ll simply look over my shoulder for my father.”

RJ hummed in approval, resisting the urge to snort at his new friend’s wit. “Ozzie, huh...? I like it; definitely better than ‘Old Dude’...!”

Maybe the compliment was the reason or perhaps it was RJ’s vivacity, Ozzie couldn’t tell for sure, but he had a feeling he could get to enjoy having this joker’s company.

And from that point on, their meetings became increasingly routine as time went on.

Ozzie would be on his lonesome at first at the same table at the same usual time; then RJ would coming roaring along on his motorcycle and swagger in like a king of the road, winking and tease-saluting as he pleased; and at last the two men would settle down to discuss whatever came to their minds, stream of consciousness deciding the start and end for them, Hammy sometimes popping in and out to see how they were doing or friends of RJ joining in on the conversation, particularly Abby.

Ah, those discussions were so liberating for the two of them—Ozzie breaking out of his shell more easily and RJ feeling security without having to look over his shoulder for once—it was no surprise why they evolved a few notches up the friendship ladder so quickly.

And maybe that’s also why Ozzie never saw it coming.

* * *

 

Seasons came and went. Classes came and went. Letters and calls came and went.

Speaking of which, Heather’s letter should have arrived by now. Nothing occupied the mailbox when Ozzie checked one chilly late-February morning. He swallowed down a lump of disappointment with the silent assurance that his baby girl’s response would be in the next day.

It wasn’t.

_‘Oh well, perhaps she’s left a call on the answer machine.’_

He found nothing there, too.

Hurt as he was, Ozzie understood that someone of his age shouldn’t let misfortunes like this slow him down, so he sought to immerse himself in preparing his lessons, teaching, and every other mundane chore he could think of, aiming to write down another letter or give Heather a call in his free time.

He never got around to either option.

RJ saw to that, unintentionally that is. One way or another, that notorious brunet always managed to ride his way into Ozzie’s thoughts, leaving the older male distracted, oftentimes frustrated and even sometimes gnashing his teeth, much to the fright of his worried coworkers and freaked-out students.

The worse part: Ozzie enjoyed this newfound inner madness. Few other people ever managed to screw his logic-wired brain up as thoroughly as that uncouth biker did. And then there was every goddamn minute of RJ’s spirited yarns, smooth-talking, and veritable arguments on the most inane of topics. That man proved himself as Ozzie’s polar opposite in so many ways, Ozzie couldn’t believe his own hair wasn’t greying at an alarming rate.

All this introspection reflected in his mind as Ozzie gazed out the window several hours later into the day, the sky a fittingly familiar shade of cobalt. Spring was on its way yet winter lingered outside, determined to bother as many denizens as possible before the next season could kick it out the door.

A frustrated sigh escaped him. Several weeks had already passed since Heather last sent a letter and even longer since she’d called or seen him—not counting the week-long vacation she spent with him for Christmas—and, if not for RJ, Ozzie swore he would’ve torn his hair out at the long wait. Honestly, calling couldn’t be that difficult and writing a letter doesn’t require that much time!

What on Earth was that girl doing over there?

 _‘Easy there, Ozzie,’_ he closed his eyes and took deep even breaths, _‘College isn’t a basket of cherries. You should know; you teach at one. She has to be up to her neck in projects and studying. You’ll receive an answer from her when she has the time. Besides, you don’t want RJ to catch you brooding like this, do you—‘_

“Whoa, Oz-man, what’s with the long face?”

 _‘Never mind,’_ Ozzie thought ruefully.Calling upon his acting skills, he willed his face to relax with the aim of leading his friend off the trail. Although RJ sat down across from him as usual, his furrowed eyebrows and half-hearted grin confirmed all suspicions instantly.

Ozzie slapped his hands to his forehead, elbows collapsing onto the table. He’d forgotten he wasn’t the only one who excelled at acting. Lovely.

“It’s about Heather, huh?”

Ozzie stiffened behind his hands, taken back. His worries couldn’t be that obvious...right? He removed his hands and fixed RJ with a vulnerable stare. After a few moments of awkward silence, the biker sighed through his nose and half-smiled before he stood up and moved his seat over to Ozzie’s, sitting down and wrapping his arm around the taller man’s broad shoulders.

“C’mon, buddy,” RJ spoke in a calm and assuring tone, his unusually tender expression assuaging his friend’s nerves. ”It’s just me. You can tell me. The kid ain’t in trouble, is she?”

Shaking his head no, Ozzie leaned back until his eyes met the ceiling. “She isn’t...at least, I hope not. Oh, she’s still so young...and college has so many temptations.” His mind swarmed with every possible scenario he could think up; none of them were pleasant. “Oh, I know she’s meant to be on her own and work problems out for herself at this point in her life, but how can I _not_ worry about her? I’m still her father, after all.”

RJ’s face, Ozzie noticed out of his peripherals, went blank for a second then began these faint twitches, almost as if its owner couldn’t decide which emotion to show. Having a teen daughter and working with youth had taught Ozzie how to read others’ faces and he could determine sheer conflict on his friend’s.

_‘Ah yes, evidently I’ve also forgotten I’m not the only one in this pair with family issues.’_

Of course, that fact didn’t surprise Ozzie. Throughout the five months he’d gotten to know RJ, their conversations had had moments in which the seemingly infallible biker would show a glimmer of weakness for just the briefest of seconds—a sudden frown, a quick spasm of the eyebrow, even the occasional pause RJ would make before switching to another topic.

And of all the subjects RJ avoided, he strayed away from the topic of family the most.

 _‘He can be rather sensitive on that matter. However, I wonder whether today is the day he will finally treat me to that part of his past.’_ Acting on a whim, Ozzie dared a faint smile. “I know you’re a man who values his freedom, so I apologize if talking about my child is off-putting.”

RJ blushed at the apology. He sheepishly drew his arm away from Ozzie’s shoulders and crossed it on the table with his other one. “Oh no, no, man, I don’t mind. Heck, I like when ya mention Heather. She sounds like a real good kid.”

A soft yet proud huff escaped Ozzie. “Yes, that daughter of mine is something else, isn’t she? She takes after her mother so much, there are some days I wonder who I’m truly looking at. I miss her so much, even on my best days, that sometimes I still trick myself into thinking she’ll come bounding down the stairs any moment. I know better than that and yet...she never stops haunting my memories.”

Faint tears glimmered in his eyes yet he refused to stop speaking, his voice struggling to remain strong and even. “I only want her to be happy with her life. I always knew she’d grow up to be a strong, confident woman and now that she’s left...”

Reality finally hit him like a truck: Heather didn’t need him anymore.

Oh to hell with being strong! Ozzie held nothing back. His eyes overflowed with tears as his body slumped forward, rivulets of saltwater pooling onto the tabletop, choked sobs streaming out of him, arms on the table as well and shielding his face from prying eyes.

Oh, how undignified he must look, carrying on like a small child. Just imagine what his mother would say at this display! Oh dear, RJ must be mortified of him now.

A strong pressure set into his back and rubbed circles into it.

“Hey.”

Ozzie twitched in response, ready for the scalding reprimand.

“I-I don’t know if this makes you feel any better, I’m not good at this kind of stuff, but...Heather’s pretty damn lucky to have you in her life. You give her all the love and support you can, even when the two of you are so far apart. I never got to know my parents as a kid so I never got to have that.”

Once he heard the sobs start to subside, he continued, his voice regaining its familiar strength. “Yeah, you heard me. I’m an orphan boy, an honest to God orphan boy. For as far back as I can remember ‘til I got old enough, I got tossed around so many times back then, I swore I looked like a tennis ball with legs. You’d think I was a troublemaker. Kind of true...except I’m the one who got in trouble most of the time...and that’s considering if the adults ever bothered to notice, let alone do something. Heh, you could say the crap I got blamed for is why I stopped giving a damn about others a long time ago.”

Nothing else poured from Ozzie’s lips and his body maintained its current position; his ears, however, listened with deep attention. Never in his life would Ozzie have guessed the high-spirited and reckless RJ to have been the victim of abuse and neglect. RJ always oozed with enough passion and charisma to put the Sun and perhaps even the North Star to shame, so to hear such harrowing truths...

Ozzie swore his own eyes might tear up again, albeit for a different reason.

“I understand why you never told me before now,” the older man finally dared to gaze up at his companion, his own eyes red and puffy. “I can’t blame you.”

RJ shook his head with a halfhearted grin. His voice remained soft. “It’s not because I didn’t trust you, Oz. It’s because you didn’t need me bogging you down with my stupid issues. Complaining never got me anything besides a slap upside the head, so why start now?”

Words failed so much this very moment, what else could one possibly say? In fact, the only actual response Ozzie could think up consisted of a weak chuckle and a one-arm hug around his friend’s waist. He tried to ignore the sensation of his fingers brushing against tight abdominal muscles as well as the heat radiating off of the brunet. He smiled when RJ reciprocated the gesture.

“I never believed in corporeal punishment, so you shouldn’t have anything to worry about. But listen to me, RJ. Complaining and sharing your problems are two different actions. I don’t care if men aren’t expected to share their feelings readily, bottling your emotions never solves anything. Trust me, I’ve tried,” a real chuckle emitted from him this time before his face hardened once more, “Never be afraid to confide in me. Whatever secret or memory you need to say, I _will_ be there to listen. Okay?”

The next few moments passed in silence, the two fellows matching each other ice-blue to ocean-blue. With a heavy sigh, RJ muttered something under his breath then suddenly leaned into Ozzie, causing the taller man to blush.

“Heh, you know what, Oz?” He spoke in a hazy voice, either unaware of or ignoring his friend’s flustered state. “You really need to write some of the stuff you say down; you just might be the next Keats, my man.”

Wow, RJ didn’t play around the bush there, did he? And in public, too; that took guts. Ozzie regained his composure. “Hmph, well, you can’t be down anymore if you’re back to your wisecracking—and, um, thank you, RJ,” he drew his friend closer into his side, “for everything you’ve said.”

“No problem, buddy...”

“Now if I could have my personal space back please...”

“Aw man, c’mon! It’s freezing out there; how else am I supposed ta stay warm?” Ozzie opened his mouth to point out the air conditioning yet thought better of it at the last second once RJ’s eyes slipped closed with a yawn. “Besides, it’s so easy to feel safe around you. You take my craziness with a grain of salt, you don’t take any of the stuff I say personally, and you’re the only person besides Abs I can spew out my deepest darkest secrets to.”

Ozzie’s face not only blushed more than before, it also heated up tremendously. Goodness, he never realized how attached to him RJ became in the last couple of months. Then again, this development didn’t surprise Ozzie so much now that he contemplated it.

_‘My family did always say I have that effect on people. I’m so honored you feel that way about me, RJ.’_

Hang on a sec! If RJ meant what Ozzie suspected he meant, then weren’t they—Ozzie allowed his body to go lax at what he realized for a while: he and RJ had fallen for each other. How that had happened, no one could say for sure.

 _‘Or perhaps it’s so simple,’_ Ozzie mused with a smile down at the younger male near to snoozing in his arms. “You best be careful not to get _too_ comfy with me, RJ. Folks here might think we’re a couple.”

RJ merely smirked. “Ah, to hell with what folks here think.”

A shy feather-soft nuzzle met his forehead, followed by a round of affectionate laughter.

“Eloquent as always, my dear RJ, eloquent as always...” He leaned down for a gentle kiss. “Sweet dreams, my dear.”


	4. Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing old isn't so bad when you're not facing it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry about the humanization. It's something of a weak spot for me. I own neither Ozzie nor RJ, by the way.

Too old.

He was much too old.

And he wasn’t getting any younger either.

Okay, so he wasn’t in need of a cane or one of those weird walker things his father uses to get around. Unfortunately, he no longer remained enough of a spring chicken that he could run five miles, let alone in his sleep. Heck, one-and-half miles alone were enough to leave him in a sweat.

Oswald Osborne gazed long and hard at his shirtless self, taking note of the silvery hairs rampant all over his lean and hardly muscular body. Then there were the worry-marks and other wrinkles carved into the skin of his face, to all of which the greying hair only brought even more attention. He ran a hand through his combed hair, sighing heavily at how...how...

_‘Ugh, I can’t even say it. Considering the last few people I’ve dated after Julianna passed away, one would think I would have gotten more appreciative about my looks. Apparently that’s not the case.’_

His thoughts stopped when a sudden smell of sweat and motor oil met his nose, inciting a half-hearted smile to involuntarily slide across his face. “Judging by that repugnant stench, I take it that you’re still tending to that monstrosity you call your ‘baby.’”

He got a tongue sliding along his nape for a response. A pair of brawny tanned arms snaked around the elder man’s waist from behind, a nose digging into his salt-and-pepper hair to drink in the fragrance of book powder and Navy Orchid cologne. Ozzie let out a heavy breath that did nothing to hide his shivers. “Couldn’t you respond like a normal human being?”

His butt received a firm squeeze in return, his breath hitching instantly and his face contorting in both surprise and poorly hid pleasure.

“I could,” RJ chuckled seductively at his partner’s reaction, “...cept’ I don’t wanna.”

Ozzie finally allowed his smile free reign as he shifted around in RJ’s arms until the two men were face-to-face. Engulfing the younger fellow in an embrace of his own, he savored the body heat discernible through his biker’s thin white muscle-shirt. Ozzie ran one hand up and down RJ’s sculpted back while the other dug into his wavy coffee hair, fingers massaging the brunet’s scalp with gentle yet expert skill.

RJ shut his eyes in bliss and let his head laze against his boyfriend’s bare chest, the hair there soft and tickly against his cheek, while his hands trekked across his lover’s body as well. No matter how many times Ozzie denied it, he was pretty darn fit for a man his age.

“Was there something you needed, my dear?” finally answered Ozzie after a few more moments of silence and touching, voice soft and adoring.

RJ snorted lightly at the address, already used to Ozzie calling him such “cutesy” names. He tilted his head up so he could see into his boyfriend’s icy blue eyes. “Yeah, Heather’s coming by tomorrow with a friend of hers from college.”

Ozzie’s eyebrows furrowed somewhat. “A boy...?”

“Relax, Daddy Shakespeare, it’s a chick,” RJ jokingly assured with a roll of his eyes, “Although, I gotta admit, I’m almost disappointed. It’s pretty damn fun to work out the tension you get from meeting whatever guy our little girl brings home.”

“You know as well as I do that no man could ever be good enough for our Heather,” Ozzie quietly retorted, turning his head away with a dark glare. He tried to ignore the blossom of warmth from hearing RJ call Heather their little girl rather than his. “And besides, don’t tell me you don’t get defensive yourself whenever she does bring one home.”

To the older man’s disappointment, RJ suddenly released his grip on him, even though the brunet draped an arm around his shoulders. The biker led him out of the bathroom and into their bedroom, planting a trail of kisses from Ozzie’s deltoid to his bearded cheekbone.

Soon, the kisses stopped coming. RJ slipped his arm from his love’s shoulders to his waist, and pulled him in so the two of them were flush against each other, Ozzie’s body hair tickling his nose once again.

“You’re not old, buddy.”

Ozzie froze on the spot. _‘But...how does he...?’_

“That’s what’s really bothering you. I can tell.”

Ozzie opened his mouth to retort—RJ trapped his lips in a tender kiss then pulled back and gently guided the gentleman’s head down to his level to press his forehead against Ozzie’s in an attempt to insure the man was listening.

“You can’t fool me, man. I realized it the moment that punk on the corner called you out on it yesterday...and I know how much it’s been eating at you since. Buddy, you’ve got more worth in your pinkie than any of these good-for-nothing bums in this damn city have in their whole bodies.”

A confident smirk crossed RJ’s face. “Trust me, you could be ninety freakin’ years old and _still_ run circles around them. Don’t ever let anyone convince you otherwise. Got it?”

Wow...just wow...when would this man ever stop surprising him?

 _‘I’ll never understand how you can be so understanding, RJ,’_ Ozzie mused in silent awe, his eyes shining with unshed tears of gratitude. He embraced his spouse in a compassionate hug. “Th...Thank you, RJ, so very much. That means volumes coming from you.”

“Don’t thank me,” RJ remarked as he returned the hug with equal love, “No really, don’t thank me...not like that anyway. You’ve still got a lotta of years ahead of ya to thank me for stuff, so don’t think I’m letting you off easy.”

And there went the moment.

“You are incorrigible,” Ozzie scoffed with a roll of his eyes as he undid the hug, sat up from the bed, and marched off in search of a shirt, jokingly trying in vain to avoid RJ’s snickering and jubilant exclaim of “That’s why you love me, babe!”

Yep, age didn’t seem so scary anymore.


	5. Christmas Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a little alone-time to spend a Christmas evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Smitty91 from Fanfiction for inspiring this chapter. In fact, if you ever read this, I hope it is to your full enjoyment! Ozzie and RJ belong to their respective owners; I’m just some guy writing out sexy fantasies. Speaking of which...oh screw it. If you can’t handle smut, you can’t handle smut; that simple.

_‘I have no idea how Christmas cheer led to this, but I am not complaining!’_

That thought belonged to a currently supine raccoon, aqua-blue eyes wide with excitement and anticipation at the taller opossum straddling his waist. And judging by said possum’s self-assured grin and tender gaze, the raccoon had no doubt of the pleasure to follow.

This whole situation had started out innocently enough: convince the foragers to momentarily forsake hibernation for their very first Christmas, suffer through Verne’s exhaustive litany of reasons for why it was a bad idea, give everyone a crash-course on the food traditions of the holiday (and rub the subsequent success and Verne’s imminent warming up in the reptile’s face), spend some quality time with Heather and the rest of the family, and...

Let’s see. What else...

Oh yeah, make sure to get some alone time with the Oz-man, which would explain why they’d gone all the way out to this spacey abandoned cave next to the empty field on the other side of the estates.

They hadn’t gotten an opportunity for this in weeks due to the fevered succession of heists brought about by both winter’s impending approach and the holiday food binge commonplace in Camelot Estates, so if RJ could be perfectly honest, the “getting some” was beyond overdue.

 _‘Just hope the big guy can take it,’_ the masked animal mused in faint concern. RJ could not ignore how sensitive Ozzie could be about the age (hence why he never brought the matter up) yet the raccoon also could not ignore that his mate did not possess the same youthfulness he did years ago. It was just like whenever the two would exercise together. Spontaneous and reckless as he was, RJ never minded slowing down for his mate. The big guy’s health was a major priority for the raccoon. _‘After all, I don’t want the lug’s Christmas present to be a heart attack.’_

Soft hands running through coarse fur cut RJ’s abnormally worrisome thoughts like a knife through cake, and the piece Ozzie was about to hand him would be most sweet indeed. RJ quivered under the firm adoring grip and gripped his mate’s broad shoulders snugly.

“I apologize in advance if my skills are a tad rusty, my dear,” the possum remarked in a low, husky tone, ice-blue eyes half-lidded and shining hauntingly in the moonlight. His nimble fingers found RJ’s nipples and proceeded to tease them with long strokes and gentle pinches. Ozzie lowered his muzzle to whisper in RJ’s twitching ear. “It’s been quite a while, so I sincerely hope I meet your expectations.”

“Oz...”

“Yes?”

A roguish grin met the possum’s eyes. “Could you shut up and take me already? Please?”

The older mammal shook his head as he chuckled at his mate’s impatience. “Eager, aren’t we? Rest assured, RJ”—his fingers started to drift downwards—“the suspense will be worth it. Now I’d like you to do something for me.”

RJ tilted his head in interest, grin having waned some. “What’s up?”

Ozzie swept his tongue against RJ’s cheek, just shy of the left corner of the raccoon’s mouth. His grip tightened, his naked tail coiled around another bushier one, and his eyes shut in the same blissful resignation he once observed on the faces of a human couple about to wed.

“When your time comes, say my name. Moan it. Chant it. Whisper it. You need only utter it, and I will lose myself in our passion. Lust shall make you her vessel and engulf thy soul in flames a roar, grace thou with ferocity amidst loving light. Rejoice, beloved, rejoice in abandon as the spell of Aphrodite consumes us ‘til we are one. I am thou. Thou art I. Now and forever...”

A deep, long kiss passed between them.

“Now...and forever...,” Ozzie repeated, voice chillingly alluring to RJ’s hearing. “Are you prepared, love?”

RJ winked, tightening his own tail around his mate’s in return.

 _‘Then it’s now or never,’_ the elder mammal decided, though not without some incredulity. Despite how much RJ bragged about his “charming good looks”, Ozzie knew the raccoon had virtually no sexual experience due to his former lone-wolf lifestyle. That and the possum had had a difficult time pondering why this was so ever since this relationship began, especially now as he gazed upon the breathtaking being in his grasp.

The curves of RJ’s waist...the gentle fluctuations of his chest...the sleek sinewy muscles hidden beneath all that gorgeous striped fur...that fluffy ticklish tail that always managed to snake its way to Ozzie’s legs...those vibrant ocean eyes that never failed to breathe new life into the possum...those inviting sinuous black lips that loved to taunt and tease him...

Those very lips Ozzie kissed before he pulled back then held his left fingers to them, RJ’s tongue licking them without prompt (the raccoon still made a show of taking his time with it). And when those dampened digits began to enter RJ’s other end, the raccoon needed all his will not to arch his back at the feel of them wriggling around inside him.

“Oh God, Ozzie...oh...”

Ozzie stroked his tail with his own, guiding it under his command in a miniature tango and pulling it in time after his free hand drifted to RJ’s throbbing member and scrotum and proceeded to knead them.

RJ shivered a toothy smile, head laying back in rising ecstasy. “Oh yeah, that’s the ticket.”

A pressure suddenly clutched his rear, the cheeks squeezed fiercely. RJ sneered lecherously, stealing a quick grope of his own from Ozzie’s generous rump. “Whoa ho, now who’s being impatient, old man?”

He earned an even harder grab for that quip, this time by the balls. RJ whimpered instantly, though not in pain; in fact, it only riled him up even more. Ozzie could be quite aggressive when he desired to.

“I love making you wait, RJ,” Ozzie whispered in his ear once more, “it fans your flames ever so higher.”

“Oh cripes, man,” the raccoon playfully griped, “Could ya skip the flowery lingo and just fuck me already? You’re getting too cute for me.”

Ozzie chuckled seductively, matching his lover smirk for smirk. “Oh? I’m too cute? Very well, we can play it that way.”

RJ held back a yelp at a sudden stronger wetness between his cheeks, the feeling only intensifying when a long flexible tongue started to skirt around and soon inside his anus. His legs now draped over Ozzie’s shoulders, the possum licking his pucker then genitals with growing hunger.

That’s when RJ finally noticed how swollen his own manhood had become, the dark grey appendage pulsating wildly, desperate from the need to be in something. Fortunately, his partner took care of that matter quickly when he took it into his mouth, shaft and all, and slid up and down on it, his tongue savoring it with relish like an exquisite dish while his teeth gently grazed it.

In spite of closed eyes, Ozzie could hear RJ gasp and growl from his administrations. Oh, how the possum loved those noises: so feral...so fierce...so...so free...and how easy it was for Ozzie to give into his instincts as well once the salty taste of RJ’s precum met his tongue. The corners of his lips upturned every time RJ bucked his hips, forcing the penis further in his mouth. Ozzie held steadfast to his mate’s waist and massaged the buttocks, stretching and compressing them every few moments as if to remind them of what else to come.

An abrupt shout escaped RJ when his semen finally came whizzing out of him and into Ozzie’s maw, the possum never gagging or pulling back as he let it fill his cheeks and then guzzled it down his throat one pint at a time. He was vaguely aware of a forepaw stroking the back of his head and neck.

“Damn, I love you, old timer,” RJ whispered in fervor. _‘And silly little me thought he couldn’t handle this.’_

Ozzie soon drew his mouth away from the still hard member, planting a soft kiss on its head, and regarded his mate with that ice-piercing stare that never failed to chill and warm RJ at the same time. Reaching his hand, he absentmindedly stroked the white of the raccoon’s cheek fur, marveling at its texture and heat. “Don’t think this is over yet, RJ,” his eyes twinkled with promise and something else...something deeper, “there’s one more gift I’d like to give you.”

“Lay it on me.”

“As you wish...”

And with that, Ozzie repositioned his front and dove straight in. Control flew straight out the window the instant he penetrated RJ, the raccoon arching his back at the solidness in him. He screamed at the top of his lungs while his fingers dug deep in the skin and fur of Ozzie’s back, possibly enough to draw blood, the possum not even flinching at the painful grip. “OH HELL YES! HARDER! HARDER, DAMN IT!”

No words escaped Ozzie. As promised, the possum became full-possessed in his lovemaking, his gaze on the ceiling wild and intense. Screw refinement, Ozzie finally had his meat up RJ’s ass and he wanted to leave imprints on the raccoon for life. He wanted RJ to remember this, remember him—his smell, touch, and presence—for the rest of his days. That’s why Ozzie drove his manhood into his mate hard.

Harder and harder, faster and faster. He needed this, RJ needed this...they _both_ needed this...so badly and...and—

“Tight,” he suddenly murmured, half in awe and half in flattery, “goodness, RJ, you’re so gloriously tight! So deliciously tight...yes...yes...yes...you deserve this. You deserve all of it.”

A trace of lucidity managed to resurface in RJ’s eyes, the raccoon positively floored by the kindness this man emanated even in sex. “Ozzie...you know I don’t—”

A finger touched his lips.

“Hush, my beloved, let go of all that hinders your heart. Burn with me among the throes of passion, I plead you.”

“I love ya to death, too, buddy,” RJ managed to murmur just before Ozzie struck gold. All at once, the raccoon stiffened, eyes wide and jaw agape, and threw his head back. He let out the mother of all screams, his world igniting like wildfire. “OZZIE! OH OZZIE! OH...YES! YES! YES!”

Ozzie himself miraculously remained silent, head still tilted skyward and mouth agape and quivering. He kept up his strikes against RJ’s prostate with strength and drive he long believed to have lost to time. Slowly yet surely, though, his voice caught up and at one point he found himself spilling out profanities that would’ve made even RJ blush—and probably were if the raccoon’s look of amazement at him was any proper indication. The older mammal blushed despite himself.

Then it came: that familiar rumble in his loins.

Ozzie sought to warn RJ of this, but his body beat him to the punch. Like a chain-reaction, his essence spilt into RJ’s insides with some of it dripping out, sending the raccoon over the edge and his own cum over the two of them, staining their chests and stomachs with thick warm milky-white liquid. Both mammals moaned each other’s names over and over until Ozzie found himself spent and collapsed on top of RJ, the wet stickiness gluing them together for what would be a long while.

Personally, neither mammal minded at all.

“Oh RJ...my darling,’ Ozzie cooed as he cradled the panting raccoon in his arms, “how do you feel?”

“Numb like hell,” RJ weakly retorted with a faint smile, returning the embrace, “and I don’t think I’ll be walkin’ for a week thanks to you.”

He received a neck-nuzzle for a response. How could he not return the gesture in full?

“Thanks. Merry Christmas, Oz...”

“Merry Christmas, Remington...”

RJ resisted the urge to head-butt the floor, so he opted for a semi-audible groan instead. _‘We really need to discuss this first-name basis thing.’_

Ozzie snuggled on top of him then with a content sigh, his fur and body keeping them both toasty and secure, he slipped away into slumber.

 _‘On second thought...tomorrow; that can wait until tomorrow...’_ RJ wrapped his limbs and tail around his mate and drifted off to sleep, too. _‘G’night, baby.’_


	6. Guess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozzie's little post-heist find raises questions and RJ's determined to answer every single one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya’ll are ready for this chapter cuz some serious silliness is about to go down here. I own none of the characters here; if I did, Over the Hedge would’ve had a lot more destruction.

“How did you manage this?”

“I’m gotta be honest with ya, Vernarino, this was more ad-lib than anything else.”

“ _Not_ your most comforting answer, RJ.”

“Oh c’mon, don’t go making yourself look innocent, Ozzie; you were a part of this, too!”

Before the raccoon, turtle, and possum stood what could only be properly described as the perfect disaster of the century.

Cars upon cars littered the deserted streets, upturned and dented and some moist from the dented fire hydrants spewing their contents out for all to see. Tire-tracks marked the ruined lawns with exposed dirt as did the ebony skid-marks on the roads and sidewalks. An ice-cream truck stuck out of a random house like a mismatched decoration, the frozen treats that spilt of out of its burst side already picked up by ravenous children like the chubby tiny two-legged jackals they were. The shouts and yells of scrambling people, barking of dogs gone nutty, and distant wailing of sirens provided fitting soundtrack.

 _‘Honestly, all this scene lacks is a fire or two,’_ Ozzie mused, amazed such hadn’t happened yet... until a nearby random piñata from an abandoned children’s party spontaneously combusted, making the three animals jump in surprise, _‘never mind.’_

Verne rubbed his eyes in wonder. He couldn’t even _begin_ to describe his disbelief—no, not disbelief, something stronger; something that would much more accurately describe the depth of his inability to comprehend all of _this_. He faced the raccoon and possum with brown eyes full of questions, most of them more out of curiosity than anger. After all, he knew RJ to be capable of much; he just never fully grasped _how_ much.

To his credit, RJ had the decency to rub his head and shrug, at a rare loss of words. Even the massive mess the forest family left behind back during the raccoon’s first week here paled in comparison to this warzone.

“Well at least we can’t say we didn’t leave our mark on this place.”

He received a light elbow in the ribs from Ozzie for that quip, although the raccoon honestly couldn’t tell whether it was for the inappropriateness or the lameness. Either way, no one could deny that this scene would require some drop-dead serious damage control, none of which (luckily) would have to fall upon their shoulders.

However, for whatever reason, Ozzie had insisted on remaining at the scene of the crime while everyone returned home, intent on finding something. The identity of that something, RJ and Verne could only guess, seeing that the hedgies already managed to scourge up copious food in spite of the destruction via a rampant ice-cream truck with Ozzie at the wheel—the possum never did have the best driving skills.

Having the Sniffer at their tails in a chaotic high-speed chase did not do the neighborhood any favors either.

Verne just hoped Ozzie found his objective soon; the Verminator may have been down for now, but he always found a way back on his tacky boot-covered feet.

Fortunately, Ozzie’s search did not take long at all. Scanning his eyes across the wreckage for a few moments, the possum lit up once he caught sight of something glinting against an upturned table on a lawn to the left of the street. Scurrying off before Verne and RJ could hold him back, he reached the object and picked it up, holding it up in the sunlight as if to admire it.

A finger suddenly tapped his shoulder.

“Uh, Oz,” RJ started in a somewhat incredulous tone, not unfamiliar with his mate’s eccentricities yet still curious as to why the marsupial stayed behind for an empty can of Coca-Cola. “If you’re hankering for a drink, ya know we’ve got plenty of those back at the log.”

To his surprise, Ozzie merely chuckled at him without looking back. When the possum faced him, RJ’s eyes widened instantly at the familiar intense yet loving gaze, one he only saw during their more private moments together. Smiling at the raccoon’s stupor, Ozzie grinned empathetically, rubbing a finger under his love’s chin teasingly before walking back in the direction of the hedge and leaving behind a thoroughly baffled RJ.

Verne was no less perplexed as he and the raccoon watched the possum saunter off with his cylindrical prize. Honestly, ever since Ozzie and RJ got together, the former had been displaying oddly...well more oddly than usual.

Don’t misunderstand Verne. He and the rest of the family fully supported the relationship the moment they caught the first signs of it, even before the couple’s awkward public announcement two months ago.

It was just that sometimes the reptile had just as much trouble keeping up with Ozzie’s line of thinking as with RJ’s nowadays.

And judging by said raccoon’s blank wide-eyed stare, Verne knew his sentiment did not go unshared.

“What was _that_ all about?” the turtle mused out loud as RJ came to a stop beside him, both animals still focused on Ozzie’s receding figure.

RJ shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? Whatever it is, I got a hunch it involves yours truly.”

 _That_ assumption got Verne’s attention quickly, the turtle perking an eye-ridge at the masked mammal. “And you think Ozzie and his soda can have something to do with you because...?”

“Oh c’mon, you saw how he got all flirty with me! After all, who wouldn’t wanna flirt with this?” exclaimed RJ with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, gesturing to himself. Before Verne could deliver a clever retort about the raccoon’s vanity, RJ marched off in the same direction as his mate, intent on finding out more behind what that possum was up to.

Verne hung back for a few seconds to stare incredulously after his fellow forager. He facepalmed at the possibility of whatever hijinks the raccoon had in mind to get the dirt out of Ozzie. “Sometimes I have to wonder how Ozzie bears it.”

* * *

 

“Hmm, no, no, that would never work. Perhaps if I...”

Ozzie suddenly stiffened at the feeling of being watched. Ears twitching for any telltale sounds, a few moments passed before the possum finally chalked the suspicion up to paranoia before resuming his work.

Meanwhile, a certain raccoon lay still behind the trunk of the tree that edged the small clearing in which Ozzie secluded himself. He cautiously peeked out at the arched back of the possum, whose body obstructed whatever he was working on. Not his materials, however, for RJ could make out a few colored buttons, a spool of white thread, a needle, and the soda can from before (only minus the cap) off to the side.

_‘Just what the heck is that guy up to? He’s making something for sure...but what?’_

RJ softly grunted at the futility of determining his mate’s latest project. There had to be a way to get closer without blowing his cover. Eyes glowing eagerly, he stealthily scampered down the tree and reached a sturdy low-hanging branch, careful not to jostle around too much lest the noise or falling leaves alert his quarry down below.

_‘A machine gun, maybe a mind-control device, or how about his own cloning machine—oh wait, I got it! He’s cooking up a time machine so he can go back in time to meet Shakespeare!’_

A moment of silence passed before RJ scoffed at the last possibility. Even for him, that was absurd and far-fetched. Laying prone on the branch, he quietly hummed to himself with one hand propped under his chin and the other posed across his woody perch, tail swinging back and forth in pace with his running thoughts.

Most of the time, RJ respected the privacy of his family members, still struggling at times with the thought of having others to worry over besides himself. Ozzie, however, had been acting weird all week and refused to disclose any information as to why, even to Heather (despite her and RJ’s many joint efforts to squeeze details out of him).

For a hot second, RJ pictured a stern-faced Verne yammering on about responsibilities and respecting others’ privacy, not to mention threats against more “nature documentary videos”. A good-natured smirk crossed RJ’s muzzle at the thought of the turtle making a hypocrite out of himself by being up here with him on the pretense of “making sure Ozzie had nothing illegal in mind.”

He even fancied a low chuckle.

“Something funny?”

RJ barely paid the new voice a second thought beyond a shake of the head. “Nah, just picturing what Verne would yak at me about if he were up—WHOA!” Startled by the voice, RJ would’ve surely fallen off had a body not launched itself on top of his own, anchoring him to the branch like a football-style dogpile. Familiar scents of book dust and fruit alerted him instantly to the identity of his surprise guest.

The raccoon let his ears tilt back sheepishly as he reluctantly looked back at his smirking mate. “Um, Ozzie.”

“Yes, RJ?”

“How long did you know I was up here?”

“You honestly didn’t think I never expected to be followed, did you? This _is_ you we’re talking about.”

Touché.

“So,” RJ drew out in a blank, eyes narrowed to hazard a guess, “you’ve been planning this from the start?”

“On the contrary,” Ozzie shifted so that he was off of RJ and now sitting on the branch with his legs dangling off, “this was more ad-lib than anything else. To be honest, I’m rather impressed I managed to sneak up on you so easily.”

“Yeah well,” RJ stuttered in a vain attempt to cushion his bruised ego as he sat up as well, “I happened to be off my game at the moment. Face it,” he pointed a finger at the possum, smirk back and withstanding. “You just got lucky, old man.”

Rather than call RJ out on his hasty assertion, Ozzie smiled instead, wrapping an arm around his mate’s waist and giving RJ’s cheek a quick peck. He intertwined his naked tail around his love’s bushy one, knowing how much RJ adored that action. His smile grew fonder, a pleased chuckle escaping, when he felt an arm snake around his hips immediately afterward.

For a moment, the two mammals sat together in silence, the only kind where RJ did not have to concern himself with occupying himself to pass the time. After all, with a mate like Ozzie, how could he ever be bored?

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about why I came up here in the first place,” RJ murmured into his mate’s ear. The raccoon smirked at the adorably wide eyes the marsupial made out of embarrassment. His Oz-man was so easy to ruffle.

“Ahem, well if you must know,” Ozzie gestured to the miscellaneous items left behind on the ground below, “I was working on your birthday present.”

RJ’s ears perked a little. “Birthday?”

“Why yes! Its two days from today, is it not?”

For a rare moment, RJ found himself stumbling over his own words while he tried to ignore Ozzie’s attentive gaze. He rubbed his free hand against his nape. “I...uh, I guess. N-Not much of a birthday boy, to be honest. It just never really struck me as a big deal before.”

Ozzie’s face dipped into a countenance of shocked pity. His grip on his mate tightened ever so slightly. His face hardened, firm yet still gentle, facing his beloved with passionate resolve. “Oh RJ, of course it’s a big deal! It _should_ be a big deal! Any day that commemorates the moment you came into being is worth celebrating and I, for one, believe you are worth every precious moment spent on this Earth!”

Shock would be an understatement to what RJ felt in response.

Him? Worth every waking second? How could one even measure so much?

Whatever answers lay to this questions, RJ could not fathom them for all that registered in his mind at the moment consisted of the wood beneath him, the soothing sunlight beaming upon his face, and Ozzie’s warmth and touch. Like always, the pleasant shivers up his spine intensified the longer he stared into Ozzie’s deep arctic eyes.

Electricity tingled against his lips, courtesy of Ozzie’s own pressing against them.

“I love you, RJ,” the possum purred, “and I love that you exist.”

Their foreheads softly leaned against each other so that they could feel each other’s breath caress their faces. The dangling tails beneath coiled closer together.

“Thanks babe. That means a ton coming from you,” RJ whispered in a doting tone, “now about my present...”

Ozzie promptly jumped to his feet, hands held up in a “hold it right there” fashion. “Ah! Nice try, RJ! You’ve already seen enough of it as it is.”

“Oh c’mon, just tell me!”

His mate zipped his fingers against his pouted lips in a half-teasing manner.

“Not even a little hint?” When Ozzie began to walk back to and then scurry back down to ground level, RJ frowningly crossed his arms like a petulant infant, sourly calling out, “You’re no fun sometimes, ya know that?”

“I know, darling!”


	7. Stand Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heather doesn't like what others have to say about her father's new relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the Hedge belongs to Michael Fry and T. Lewis and Dreamworks Animation.

“Doesn’t it _bother_ her?”

“Ya know, I honestly have no idea. Never thought to ask. Probably.”

“Well, I’d be if that were _my_ father swapping spit with another man.”

“I’m with ya there. It’s kind of unsettling.”

“ _Unsettling?_ Ha, disturbing is what it is!”

None of these words went unheard.

A shadow suddenly loomed over the two chipmunks, cutting their conversation off like a knife at their throats. Warily turning around, they found themselves face to face with a rather indignant adolescent possum.

The dark glare cast upon them only thickened the silence as Heather promptly pointed to her own reeled-back ears. When she spoke, her voice came out in a low unamused tone, almost a hiss and hard as granite.

“I can hear you.”

The chipmunks merely gulped in response, one of them even opening their mouth to offer an excuse only to come out agape, the action only disgusting the affronted marsupial further.

With a scoff, Heather stalked off in a graceful yet indignant gait (exactly like Ozzie taught her), proud of what she’d done even though none of her family were around to videotape it.

That was fine by her. She’d already gained enough satisfaction by standing up for her loved ones.

And yet...

As she approached the hedge, the overheard comments from the chipmunks’ talk began to echo in her head, weighing down both her steps and her confidence.

Try as she did to block them out, the words only seemed to grow in volume:

_Bother her._

_Another man._

She needed her music right now. Direly and quickly. So lost in her thoughts, the adolescent barely avoided walking straight into another body—a familiar _striped_ body.

Heather gasped once she recognized her father’s mate. “I am like _so, so_ sorry, RJ! I should’ve—”

A chuckle and warm gentle hand on her shoulder halted her hasty apology. “Hey, easy there, kid. No harm done. You okay, though? Ya look like you’ve had your pizza spiked by the kids again.”

Hesitation flashed in Heather’s eyes. Would letting RJ in on what she’d heard be a wise idea?

She knew the guy was nowhere near as dramatic as her father (thank goodness). On the other hand, the raccoon still tended to struggle with resolving family matters, like for example when he needed backup from Ozzie and Verne to talk to Hammy about the birds and the bees last week.

Not the most fun chat.

So who could blame Heather’s lack of eagerness to tell her would-be stepdad the ugly way in which folks viewed his and Ozzie’s relationship?

 _‘Gotta be honest,’_ Heather mused to herself, _‘my dad and RJ dating surprised me, but now that I think about it, it never really bothered me. Not sure why but it just never did.’_

A gentle shake nudged her out of her reverie, making her look up into RJ’s inquisitive watery-blue eyes. Shaking her head, she forced a smile. “I’m okay, RJ. Just had to deal with some idiots who were badmouthing you and Dad.”

A proud smirk crossed RJ’s muzzle as the raccoon chortled and tousled the teen’s head fur. “Ha, that’s our girl! Not taking crap from anybody, just like her old man! I _am_ talking about me by the way.”

Despite herself, Heather managed to giggle at the quip. Thank goodness her father fell in love with someone with a solid sense of humor.

Unfortunately, that same someone also knew how to sniff out lies and half-truths thanks to years of doing the same himself...and RJ could smell Heather’s plastered emotions from a mile away.

Concern returned to his face as he shrugged and patted the girl on the back. “Seriously, though, kid. Don’t pay attention to what those idiots say. Folks always say stupid things about stuff they don’t get.”

Heather couldn’t help blushing at being seen through so easily. That and she inwardly marveled at the raccoon’s empathic words. Looks like RJ was getting the hang of being emotional support. Despite her hand rubbing over her other arm in embarrassment, she at least had to give RJ points for being understanding. Her feelings brightened when she felt the older mammal slip an arm around her shoulders and nuzzle the top of her head affectionately.

“Wanna check on your Dad, kiddo, or do ya need some time to yourself?”

Heather shook her head with a sincere smile for once. “Nah, I’ve had plenty of ‘me’ time for today. Let’s go see Dad.”

At least this way, she’d have the proof staring her in the face and assuring her doubtful self of the genuine love between her father and the raccoon that stole his heart.

“Alright, but just so you know, your old man’s got the romantic comedies running again.”

That got the teen face-palming instantly. “Please let it be something from Disney at least.”

RJ puffed out his cheeks and exhaled sympathetically. “Knowing our luck, kiddo, I would not count on it.”

Oh well, at least they’d be together to suffer through whatever sappy movie Ozzie had in store for the three of them—another reason Heather enjoyed having RJ for a second Dad.


	8. Take It All Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RJ is in critical condition, Hammy blames himself for what happened, and Ozzie is having none of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the Hedge belongs to Michael Fry and T. Lewis and Dreamworks Animation. And yes, the title is from Owl City. Adam knows how to strike the feels.

This should not have happened.

They had come to rescue Heather, who’d been taken captive some time ago after a heist by the Sniffer.

Hammy’s only mistake had been a slip, not being able to see the hidden lubricant trap amongst the pavement during the escape from VermTech HQ. That mistake gave the Sniffer just enough time to take aim and shoot his gun because if he could not have his vermin alive than dead was the next best thing.

Neither the squirrel nor human anticipated RJ to take the hit instead, much less in the chest.

The young squirrel couldn’t remember much after that, aside from catching RJ and desperately trying to get him out of here as fast as possible along with Heather’s help—oh wait, there’d been a piercing scream from behind them but RJ’s injury had been top priority at the time. Besides, anything to get that nasty Sniffer off their backs.

Now here Hammy stood, an observer to a scene to which he felt like an intruder.

Laying supine atop a white paper towel-covered stump long enough to accommodate his body, RJ remained still as stone, face blank and eyes closed and chest barely rising or falling from breathing. White bandages coated nearly half of his torso with red from the blood staining them.

Seated next to him on the edge were Ozzie and Heather, both possums gazing down upon him with heart-stricken sorrow. The elder possum had an arm wrapped around his daughter, who’d showed amazing resilience to the situation despite her own turbulent emotions. She loved RJ (that raccoon who had become a second mother to her), but the adolescent knew better than to give into despair so quickly.

Especially since her father needed the comfort more than her.

So far the surgery to remove the bullet, while nerve-wracking, proved successful. Unfortunately, RJ had yet to awaken; needless to say, the family lay at a loss at what to do besides just wait and pray.

Pray that their raccoon would live to see another day.

And of them all, Ozzie was praying the hardest.

Now Hammy possessed plenty of flaws (he’d be the first to admit that), his hyperactivity the most notable. That did not mean he completely lacked maturity. He knew when to take responsibility for his actions and when to step aside to let others handle their own problems.

Because what happened to RJ—this living nightmare Ozzie and Heather had to live through as a result...Hammy would gladly take the blame. His slip-up caused this whole travesty after all.

“Hamilton.”

When Hammy jolted out of his thoughts and shot his head up, Ozzie was gesturing him to come sit down beside him. To the tree-climber’s surprise, Heather was nowhere in sight. Whether she left to be by herself or find something to distract herself as a means of coping was anyone’s guess.

All Hammy knew was that Ozzie had something to say to him. No doubt something serious.

Nervously approaching his elder the same way a child would a displeased teacher, the scarlet youth took a seat on the stump, his bushy tail twitching from anxiety. His emerald eyes could not manage to tear away their gaze from RJ; up close, the raccoon appeared even more lifeless, disturbing to see from someone so usually full of life and vigor.

Hammy felt like crying right then and there.

“It’s alright, you know.”

The squirrel involuntarily flinched at the possum’s soft tone. Somehow it scared him more than a yell or reprimand would have.

“I know it was just an accident. We all make mistakes, regardless of age.”

We all make mistakes? Well, we don’t all make mistakes that end up with your family getting hurt, Hammy retorted in his mind. Perhaps he _was_ overreacting (more so than usual) but could one really blame him in these circumstances?

“B-but it’s my fault I tripped,” he spoke for the first time since this tragedy began. “If I hadn’t, RJ wouldn’t had ta save me and he’d be goin’ around right now telling us how proud he was of us for savin’ Heather and not all quiet and still and—”

A strong arm wrapping around him in a firm yet gentle squeeze cut his agitated apology off. Ozzie inwardly chuckled at the squirrel’s wide-eyed stupor; even without his usual zest, Hammy retained his tendency to ramble nonstop, a tendency the possum knew meant to help the young mammal cope.

“Hammy, listen to me. The Sniffer had anticipated our weaknesses and abused them to his full advantage, just like any fiend would. If RJ hadn’t intervened, this”—Ozzie gestured a hand to said raccoon—“could’ve been you. How different would things have been for us then?”

No answer came. Hammy realized Ozzie’s point and in doing so remembered everyone’s luck in having someone as sacrificial as RJ...yet he could not find the words to say thanks, let alone to whom.

RJ for being who he was.

Or Ozzie for being who he was.

Perhaps there lay no need to.

Ozzie understood, he always understood. And so would RJ.

Tearing his eyes away from the marsupial, the tree-climber wrapped his bushy tail around himself and closed his eyes in thought, Ozzie’s warmth adding to the younger mammal’s body heat.

Hammy smiled at the comforting gesture.

Believe it or not, he had been among the first besides Heather to discover RJ and Ozzie’s relationship—and that resulted from being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

* * *

 

_Scurry here, scurry there._

_Hmph, he swore he’d put that can of cheese spread somewhere._

_But where, where, where?_

_Scurry over there, scurry over here._

_The squirrel suddenly halted at voices._ Familiar _voices._

_“Mmm, mmm, oh geez Ozzie, that’s good.”_

_Hammy perked an ear in interest and curiosity. That sounded like RJ, and wow, judging by his pleasured tone, he sounded pretty happy, too! Maybe he and Ozzie were sharing something yummy! They’d probably even share if asked nicely._

_If only he knew._

_Licking his chompers at the rampant edible possibilities, Hammy speedily followed the voices. As he neared, he became puzzled at the exchanged words he overheard: words about heat, tongues, cream, muscles, and fur. Just what sort of food were those two eating?_

_Eventually Hammy reached the edge of a clearing, from where the voices emanated clear as day; the moment he poked his head through a bush he withdrew almost immediately, eyes huge from surprise and disbelief._

_He had caught Ozzie and RJ in the middle of a passionate make-out session, the opossum pinning the raccoon to a tree by the shoulders and trailing his smooth naked tail around RJ’s pelvis while the masked forager ran his rough hands up and down the older mammal’s sinewy body, both of them moaning explicitly from each other’s actions._

_Ozzie pulled back, smirking like a disobedient teenager after curfew. “You delicious little charlatan. Thou should know better than to try and outwit_ me _.”_

 _RJ’s chuckle would’ve put the Devil to shame. “And_ thou _should better than to underestimate_ me _.” To prove his point, the raccoon suddenly took both forepaws onto Ozzie’s stomach and massaged long and deep into the abdominal muscles, making the possum melt in seconds though his grip on RJ did not lessen even in the slightest._

_“Oh RJ, you naughty, sinful creature...,” Ozzie released a shivering sigh that completely ruined his tone of false admonishment, “you know you need to ask permission before handling such personal areas.”_

_“Hey,_ you’re _the one who went all Don Juan on me by literally sweeping me off my feet and whisking me all the way out here,” RJ playfully retorted. “What’s ta keep ya from havin’ your way with little old me?”_

_Ozzie shook his head with a warm chuckle. “’Little old you’ once managed to outsmart a bear, love. You run circles around me if you wanted to. Besides, you know I know better than that. I treat you with nothing other than respect, admiration, and care. If anything you should be more cautious in how you display that charisma of yours. It—does things to me.”_

_A dark smirk crossed RJ’s muzzle at the soft-spoken admission. He put a hand to Ozzie’s chest and neared the possum’s lips. “Does it? Well then, let’s see what else of me ‘does things to you’.”_

_RJ snaked his striped tail between Ozzie’s legs and—yeah, right now seemed to be a_ real _good time to leave._

_With unusual quiet, a blushing Hammy managed to sneak away from the extremely personal scene. Honestly he felt like a little kid that just walked in on his parents kissing. Actually scratch that: he felt more like someone guilty of blasphemy, someone who just trespassed among sacred ground._

_The light in their eyes..._

_How tenderly they handled each other..._

_All that love hidden behind their teasing and smirks..._

_Hammy may not have known much about love, but he had seen enough of it from Penny and Lou and Stella and Tiger to know how to identify it. And he could sure as rain identify Ozzie and RJ as head over heels for each other._

_To be honest, the idea of the Shakespearean and the smooth-talker being a couple did not faze the squirrel now that he gave it further thought. If anything, it gave him downright joy to see that the two older mammals had found love in each other._

_And God knows RJ needed and deserved all the love he could get._

_It’d be best to leave those two alone for the time being._

_Now back to finding that pesky cheese can._

* * *

 

So deep in memory, Hammy almost jolted at Ozzie’s abrupt gasp. He faced him, emerald eyes full of concern.

“Ozzie...?”

The possum did not look his way; he simply put a paw to RJ’s chest and peered closer at the raccoon, looking to all the world unbelieving and...joyous?

That was when how Ozzie’s paw rose and fell on RJ’s white-furred chest.

RJ’s _breathing_ white-furred chest.

Hammy did a double-take, jaw comically agape, at the detail before slowly tracing his eyes up to the raccoon’s face, hoping to meet a pair of vivid aqua-blue eyes and a matching (albeit faint) grin.

His hopes did not go disappointed.

“Hey babe, hey Hambone. What’s new?”

Never would Hammy forget the sight of Ozzie’s face, how the elder mammal’s face lit up brighter than a Christmas tree or the torrent of tears that suddenly cascaded all over RJ’s fur, eliciting a joking raccoon’s request to ‘ease back on the waterworks, will ya, Oz?’

That joke did it.

Before Hammy could stop himself, he too gave into the urge to cry and embraced the raccoon with all the strength and fear of a child half-expecting a revived sibling or parent to disappear on the spot if let go even a little, pelting RJ with a hurried litany of apologies and promises.

Ozzie followed his lead beautifully. Gingerly gathering the raccoon’s head into his arms, he whispered all sorts of sweet-nothings into RJ’s ears, thanking every god he knew for this miracle and punctuating each thanks with a kiss upon his exasperated but not unappreciative lover’s face.

“Geez, you guys,” RJ managed to speak amidst all the affection, “One bullet wound and all of ya miss me like crazy.”

That quip did not go over well with Ozzie. In fact, it sent the possum into a rampaging rant over irresponsibility and scaring everyone almost to death. Verne would’ve been proud.

And Hammy merely sat back beside RJ and smiled, thankful things had turned out for the better.


	9. The Difficult Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Ozzie and RJ's recent fight leaves Penny uneasy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while, hasn't it? And yes, this title is from a song by Sheryl Crow. Childhood music, what can I say?
> 
> Over the Hedge belongs to Michael Fry and T. Lewis and Dreamworks Animation.

_'Oh golly, this is just shameful.’_

Honestly, Penny was torn between amazement and sympathy as she took a moment to survey her surroundings, hands akimbo. She faintly registered Stella, who stood beside her, kick aside an empty soda can out of the way.

Trash, trash everywhere, pet dung on select lawns, mailboxes marred with graffiti, cars blasting out lyrics explicit enough to give heart attacks to whole crews of sailors...

Camelot Estates seriously let itself go after Gladys’ arrest.

Not that anyone was complaining...from the animals’ end anyway. Food was food, and that was just fine in the porcupine mother’s book. Just as long as no more fanatic exterminators or erratic homeowners showed up. One million close calls with a shock rod and weed-whacker were enough, thank you very much.

Not that there weren’t any more dangers lurking around, mind you; the forest animals still needed to keep a close eye out for any crazy pets or leftover Verminator tech during their heists.

Like Verne says, “Safety is like food: enough is never enough.”

All the same, the humans don’t cause as much trouble nowadays, so scoring the edible treasures’ a bit easier. Heck, some of the humans have even started _offering_ food—even if it was that meager-looking yet surprisingly tasty cat kibble.

Speaking of which...

“Ah jeepers,” Penny allowed her shoulders to slump at the sight of her three boys squabbling over a sparkly violet bowl nearby.

Fortunately Lou had been watching over the rambunctious rascals and managed to break them up before a fistfight broke out, much to Penny’s relief.

 _‘Oh Lou, can always rely on him, yeah?’_ The lady porcupine found herself smiling at the sentiment, feeling blessed to have such a good fella’ in her life.

A familiar contralto groan reminded her of Stella’s presence. “Oh boy, don’t look now, girl, but it seems to me the forest’s hottest couple are still goin’ at it.”

_‘Oh dear.’_

With a turn of her head, Penny winced at the sight of Ozzie and RJ sitting a piece apart from each other, back to back as they feasted out of their own bowls, their silence enough to make a cemetery feel uncomfortable, faces fit to make a mortician seem jolly by comparison.

Though Penny considered the lack of words a slight improvement over the shouting match she and the rest of the family witnessed this afternoon, seeing her old friend and her step-nephew like this still broke her heart.

Arguments among couples are perfectly healthy so long as they don’t cross any lines. In fact, oftentimes, they’re merely a disguised chance for partners to come closer.

No one-hundred percent guarantee of resolution, however, especially when tempers start flaring. Penny would even admit the same about herself and Lou.

Regardless, the prickly mother found her innate optimism poking at the back of her brain, encouraging her to have a little faith in the dispirited duo. RJ and Ozzie endured worse throughout their relationship, the kidnap by Vincent months ago being one; one little spat should be nothing by comparison.

Except RJ brought _her_ up.

Needless to say, things went spectacularly downhill from there.

Penny sighed with crossed arms, tapping a finger against her cheek. “Oh gee Wilikers, Stella. I wish they’d talk to each other, yeah?”

Rather than her characteristic sass, Stella shrugged her shoulders in empathy, emerald eyes softening as they watched the two males alternately sneak glances at each other. “Much as I’d prefer those two goofs make up already myself, it ain’t our place or anyone else’s but theirs when they make up, Pen.”

Penny noticed the lack of an ‘if’ but wisely kept that to herself, wry grin withstanding. She wouldn’t be surprised if Stella stepped in case she decided the apology process needed ‘speeding up’.

The skunk waved an exasperated hand. “Heck, I’m surprised the topic hadn’t come up sooner.” Though if it had, Ozzie might have skirted around the subject with RJ. Not that Stella couldn’t relate. Julianna’s death hit everyone hard, so when the raccoon grew curious about her a week after his induction into the family...

Let’s just say seeing Ozzie burst into tears at the mention of his wife cannon-fired any and all questions about her out of the raccoon’s mind. Neither procyon nor marsupial dared bring the subject back up. Thank god Heather and Verne took it upon themselves to tell RJ all he needed to know back then.

Penny sighed in resignation. Stella was right: this matter was between RJ and Ozzie—

 _‘Wait a sec there. Is RJ...?’_ The porcupine blinked in surprise when the furry bandit, bowl dragging behind him, stood up and made his way towards Ozzie then hid a giggle behind her hand at the sight of the normally charismatic raccoon’s shy expression.

Speak of the furry devil.

* * *

 

While they’d been the topic of discussion, both raccoon and possum had been busy self-debating how to apologize.  

Until RJ took the plunge and approached his somber partner. He pursed his lips in thought, almost pouting, not wanting to break his gaze away from Ozzie even though anger kept demanding he should.

Ozzie rubbed his arms in lament, regretting his allowance of this childish silence despite lingering wounds from the sharp words exchanged earlier. _‘This is so unbecoming of us, hiding our feelings like five-year olds. It’s not like I’m anymore innocent than him anyway. RJ had no right to speak so lowly of her, but perhaps the way I talked about Julianna proved too...callous of his feelings.’_

Plastic scraped against concrete, velvet pads clip-clapped to a stop next to Ozzie, and the possum shivered inside at the striped tail now caressing his back. Dear Macbeth, how he wished he could stay mad, snap at the younger mammal that no amount of sweet-talk or caresses would bury away his transgression.

Except Ozzie _wasn’t_ that type of person. Of all his flaws, his innate sentimentality never failed to resonate, moving him to glance RJ’s reflection in the painted bowl’s side, the dark hue doing nothing to hide the sheer sincerity and guilt on the bandit’s face.

 _No_ , Ozzie insists to himself, _not yet_. Let RJ speak his mind first. Maybe then they could move on from this mess. He suppressed a smile, his patience rewarded, when the raccoon opened his mouth to speak.

“Still with the silence treatment, huh?” RJ gave a weak smile, “Guess I can’t blame ya,” only for it to crumble into a frown.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said earlier. It was fu—,” he tossed a significant glance to where Hammy was dashing around the sprinklers just in front of them, “messed up of me to say, and I’m sorry, man. I just...I don’t know. I just...got jealous, okay?”

The forced calm in his voice crumbled into a growl. “It’s freaking selfish of me, I know, but God ever since we started dating it just eats at me whenever you mention her and you get this look in your eyes that just makes me wanna...wanna...”

Ugh, this sucked! RJ gripped his head in a moment of frustration, wondering if this is how the Rocket dude from that space movie felt. Because if it was, then RJ had a whole new respect for the poor guy.

Eventually, a deep sigh escaped him, somewhat calmer yet still forlorn.

“Ozzie...please don’t expect me to best her. Cuz I can’t. All I got is what I got, and even I know that’s not much.” Hands tightened into fists and fell to his lap. “I’m too screwed up to give you what you used ta have. It doesn’t excuse me badmouthing your devotion to her, but don’t think my apology means I’ll do a heel-face turn just to satisfy your nostalgia either.”

Facing his mate, RJ’s eyes shone with untold conviction. “You want me, then you get all of me, baggage included.”

All throughout this speech, Ozzie’s face told nothing, an attentive blank to the steady yet impassioned words spilled out before him. The possum reached out a hand and ran it down the raccoon’s cheek, thumb twitching from where it stroked just beneath too-beautiful-to-be-mortal electric-blue eyes.

RJ’s face relaxed but the resolve remained, Ozzie noted. So the possum ceased his ministrations and regarded the raccoon with identical feeling, ready to freeze and melt and explode all at once from the urge to confirm his love’s statement.

Ozzie knew _exactly_ what RJ needed for a response: “You really need to stop downsizing yourself. For someone so magnetic and prideful, you have an awful habit of comparing yourself to others.”

For a hot second, RJ bristled at the observation, ready to deny and argue... only to think better of it and sag in defeat instead. Couldn’t deny _that_ truth, hard to swallow as it was.

Any chance for the lament to fester dissipated when Ozzie shifted closer, tail intertwining with a bushier one, and gently nudged his shoulder against RJ’s. “Especially when others look up to you for strength.”

What the possum received consisted of nothing dramatic, nothing explosive or sudden or even significant—not to the untrained eye at least. RJ curled his body into a near-fetal position and leaned against him, feeling neither for the first time nor the last the age gap between them.

 _‘It’s not like I don’t know how much the others look to me.’_ Silver-tongued charlatan, after all. _‘I never had anyone to compare myself to besides Vincent—and_ that _ain’t saying much. Guess I still can’t shake off those years as a lone wolf. ’_

Before his thoughts can downward-spiral, strong arms and warm hands wrap around him, the body they belong to lean and encompassing and warm enough to make the raccoon close his eyes in bliss.

It’s all RJ can do not to whimper and moan and God, Ozzie why do you have to start humming? Because it’s not out of a lack of knowledge of the lyrics or simple fancy. It’s deep and light and sorrowful and happy and tragic and hopeful all at once and, _holy Shia,_ is there a long naked tail tickling his stomach?

A pleasant shiver racked his body when the feeling ascended to his chest. Yep, that’s Ozzie’s tail. In public, too. Impressive in RJ’s opinion. _‘Gutsy, old man. Very gutsy.’_

“I’m sorry, as well.”

RJ’s eyes shot open and tried to view Ozzie from below. The overhead lights from above are giving the possum a soft halo; that gentle loving smile is adding to the effect.

“Oz, _I’m_ the one who ran my mouth.”

“Well so am I. Sometimes I can be so self-absorbed with my own emotions, I disregard the influence what I say and do have on others.”

“Like with Heather and the fainting?” Honestly how could RJ resist the quip?

And how could Ozzie resist tapping that naughty nose? “Persistent little snark. Wonderful in your own captivating way. That’s why I brought Julianna up: to assure you of your place in my heart. Don’t think I never noticed the sorrow that glanced your face last week.”

Oy vey, Mother’s Day. RJ has a bad feeling his fur isn’t hiding his current blush well enough from view.

Ozzie’s amused chuckle says everything. Pink-tipped digits chuck the younger mammal’s chin, ocean-blue to ice-blue in a tender gaze. “Cruel as your words were, you had every right to feel pushed aside.” He cocked his head in that adorable way RJ always loved. “Will you do me the honor of reminding me why I’m so lucky to have you?”

“Before or _after_ our ‘fun-time’?” Ah, innuendos. With a smirk, RJ sat up straighter as he picked a piece of cat kibble then flicked it into the air, mouth posed to catch it.

A pink-and-black hand beat him to the morsel, pulled back by a smug thespian marsupial that neared his face towards his own, face ridden with patient desire. “Preferably now.”

Oh. Uh... _that_ in front of everybody? RJ opened his mouth to suggest somewhere more private because damn as much as he fancies public exhibition, he’d rather not have Verne and possibly the other adults jumping down their throats and—

**_FLURP!_ **

There RJ is, his mouth full of a pellet and Ozzie’s right index, the possum encouraging him via eye-contact to chew. Hard to disobey with a sexy stare like that coming from his mate, so why not?

Mmm, cheese and steak, RJ muses. _‘Tastes way better when you’re not focused on havin’ a pity party.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever leave out food for any stray cats only for possums to show up instead? Cutest thing ever!


	10. Masterpiece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own...anyone in this chapter actually. Oh the unfairness of life!

One finger in, deeper and deeper, slow and long and gentle. _Take your time, all the time you need._

One finger out, steady and masterful. Up and down, side to side. _Round and round we go. There, that’s it._

“Babe?” a deep voice murmured.

Gently Oswald blew on the subject of his ministrations then pulled back with a tender smile, hands caressing the sides of his labor as he regarded the raccoon in front of him with a teasing tone. “Yes RJ? Any opinion of what you think so far?”

“How much longer do I have to stay in this position?” RJ griped as he tossed an annoyed/pleading face over the shoulder at his lover, “My legs are startin’ to _cramp_ here!”

The opossum rolled his ice-azure eyes at his mate’s complaint; that striped scoundrel never enjoyed sitting still for too long. Art demanded these sorts of sacrifices and dedications, though. What else did RJ expect after agreeing to this?

Then again, what else did Ozzie expect from this overgrown child: cooperation and silence? Yeah right. All the same, no amount of whining would deter him from completing what he set out to accomplish.

“Hang in there for a little longer, love,” the elder mammal coaxed while his fingers resumed their work, “Just a few more touches then you can have the freedom of movement once more.”

That assurance did nothing to stymie RJ’s groan. “You said that ten minutes ago!”

Okay, valid point, Ozzie had to concede to that. He wasn’t exactly known for his speed, after all. Still, finishing this would go faster without the comments impeding his progress. Steeling his resolve with a deep calming breath, the thespian maintained his zen master poise as he tried quickening his pace without the risk of sloppiness.

“Darling, _please_ show patience. This takes time.”

“It’s sucking _up_ time!” RJ snapped.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s boring!”

“It’s sensual.”

RJ’s incredulous face would go down in legend. “With a gap greater than five inches between us? Are you kidding me?”

Ozzie finally scoffed in frustration, resisting the urge to throw his hands in the air from exasperation lest his palette and brush fly into the air and smudge all over the ground, forcing him to find new paint and thus prolonging the whining.

“Remington Junior, you are impossible!”

Oy. RJ involuntarily flinched but not at his mate’s tone. Ugh, how he _hated_ being called that, especially with the title at the end! _‘And Verne wonders why I never spill the beans about my real name!’_

With a gruff exhale, the raccoon continued leaning back against the tree trunk, legs crossed and hands within the pockets of the doll-sized ebony jeans Ozzie smuggled just for him, baggy white muscle shirt loose against the procyon’s lean body. RJ only agreed to be a model for the implied appeal of having Ozzie undress him by eye multiple times.

On the other hand, he had to give Oz-man props on the clothes; they were quite comfortable and matched him well (not that RJ knew much about fashion but hey anything that fashionista of a possum picked out was bound to be stylish).

“Turn your head to the side darling,” Ozzie suddenly ordered, his voice breaking the raccoon’s reverie, “You look more handsome when you think no one’s watching.”

Handsome when no one’s watching? RJ blinked in wonder at the idea; he heard Ozzie compliment him on many aspects, but _that_ one—he needed a moment to take in the possibility of Ozzie admiring him from afar, something not out of character for the Shakespearean. The procyon’s surprise must have been easily readable because soon his lover’s familiar smooth bouncy chuckles sifted into the late afternoon air.

Pouting proved inevitable for RJ. He knew Ozzie meant no offense; still pride remained a priority for the ex-loner, even after adjusting to family life and being in a romantic relationship. Old habits die hard. At least Ozzie wasn’t the type of guy to go rubbing humiliation in others’ faces.

_‘That’d be the unwanted cherry on top. With a little whip cream on the side.’_

“Done.”

Wait, done?! Not caring to ask permission first, RJ tore away from the tree and dashed to Ozzie’s side to check out his own likeness. Hmm, the old man got his profile down pretty damn accurately and, wow, he _did_ look handsome when he thought no one was looking, especially in pastels.

 _‘Makes me wish I could date myself.’_ RJ flicked the straps of his shirt with a smug grin before snaking an arm around Ozzie’s waist and nuzzling his head against the elder forager’s shoulder. _‘After all, who_ wouldn’t _want some of this?’_

“It’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to do a portrait with anyone,” Ozzie softly replied as he admired his handiwork, “Everyone else is either too busy or too jittery.”

Turning with intent to retort with ‘you mean like me’, RJ lost his grin when he caught traces of melancholy in his love’s ice-blue eyes. Craning his head for a better view, he noticed the slight sheen to the possum’s pupils and so quickly wrapped his bushy tail around Ozzie’s bare one as a means of comfort.

_‘Oh jeez, this got him thinking of his wife again, didn’t it?’_

Suddenly the raccoon felt awful for his bratty behavior. The moment his mouth opened, however, a pink-tipped pointer finger sealed it, stopping the incoming apology.

“You never cease to amaze me, RJ, the way you take life as it comes, even in the most mundane of situations. I envy that yet I’m also so thankful for it.” Ozzie’s tail tightened around RJ’s as he continued speaking, guiding the appendage left and right just in that slow sensual manner that made the raccoon want to take Ozzie so badly.

In fact RJ would gladly do so here and now to free the possum from whatever sad place his mind took him. Damn these clothes.

Ocean blue eyes risked another glance at the portrait, wondering its meaning to the painter. _‘How often has he watched me when I’m like that, staring out at nothing like some no-name poet? Does it cheer him up, calm him down, distract him—all of the above?’_

Any other thoughts running through RJ’s head tripped and face-planted at the feel of rough fingers sliding up the front of his shirt, feeling the abdominal muscles beneath the snowy fur, and once that other hand took the small of his back and nudged him onto Ozzie’s lips, any hope of escaping flew out the window.

Not that you’d hear any complaining on RJ’s part _this_ time.

Eventually Ozzie pulled back, panting breath warm against RJ’s cheek as he whispered, “My apologies for keeping you still for so long. It was inconsiderate of me. If you’d like to quit, I’d be more than willing to find another model.”

Faster than Hammy on Redbull, RJ twirled Ozzie then dipped him tango-style, planting a deep intense buss on the unprepared actor’s lips before pulling back with an audible smack and a greedily fierce countenance.

“Nobody’s body goes on those blank paper thingies but mine,” the raccoon growled.

Ozzie blinked, not sure what to say? Was he completely taken back by the response? Yes. Did he mind? Not so much. If anything, the sudden aggressiveness only sent a beam across Ozzie’s face. Like Verne says, if you want no holds barred, just see RJ.

With a tickled guffaw, he stroked his charlatan’s sinewy arms. “Then I look forward to our next project together. They’re easels by the way.”

“Whatever.”


	11. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got to watch Zootopia at freaking last! That movie is so witty and well-paced! And considering there’s a crossover between this movie and Over the Hedge floating around on AO3 (and a good one at that), I decided to contribute.
> 
> In other words, say hello to the Zootopia AU! Here’s a few details to keep in mind:
> 
> 1\. Ozzie is a theater professor at a local college, just like in the Human AU.
> 
> 2\. RJ works as an engineer at day and hustles on the side. He used to team up with Nick and Finnick back in the day. Like in the Human AU, he’s got a motorcycle.
> 
> 3\. The hedgies all live in a boardinghouse called Steve Hedges—and yes, I went there. XD
> 
> 4\. Heather is a college graduate who works at ZPD as a junior forensic science technician.
> 
> 5\. All the OTH characters are the same size as in their original movie. RJ and Ozzie, for example, are about the same size and height as Mr. and Mrs. Otterton.
> 
> Over the Hedge belongs to Michael Fry and T. Lewis. Zootopia belongs to Disney.
> 
> For those who haven’t seen Zootopia, there are spoilers for key plot elements.

_A pitch black room, his own limbs nearly invisible in the dark._

_The only light shining from above, redder and deeper than blood, staining his flesh._

_A glass pane that revealed shadowy figures, their forms visibly only by faint violet outlines._

_This entire room jolting as though alive, shaking him, somehow screaming gibberish at him to escape._

_And the anger. Why was he feeling so much of it? Perhaps he could be temperamental at times, but never like this._

_Then horror. Pure, cold choking horror that the sickening sensations were no fault of the room._

_That the near-dislocated joints and aching neck and spittle-sending snarls came from his own doing._

_Most of all, that he could not stop. No matter how much he tried to cry, to take a deep breath, to remember, remember, remember something (someone) important._

_Unseen arms suddenly pin him down, leaving him unable to do anything but spit out unintelligible sneers while his limbs fought in vain to get away, get away from here, get away now._

_All of him stiffens at a needle piercing his side._

_Numb...everything’s so numb._

_Then...fading..._

_Fading..._

_...fad..._

* * *

  _...in, fade out..._

_Fade in, fade out..._

_Fade in, fade out..._

This pattern of consciousness followed until eventually everything ceased swimming like Jell-O.

The body fared no better: muscles and joints ached more so than usual while the pins and needles sensation in the limbs rendered moving discomforting. Fortunately, the more he tested his body, the more the discomfort lessened (even only little by little).

With a ginger opening of his eyelids, Ozzie Osworth flinched at the fluorescent lighting and squinted for some reprieve. Once his vision adjusted, he found himself in an unfamiliar bed in a room most certainly not his own. The sheets were too thin and the space too Spartan, the green gown he found himself in too flimsy and ill-suited against the sterile cold.

_I’m...in the hospital,_ he realized with no small amount of wonder. Dawning realization upturned his lips. _I’m back!_

His aging heart beat with overflowing relief...only for reality to slap him back into the present, his body sagging as if weighed down by the impending confusion and nagging worm of dread in the back of his mind.

_I’m back...but from what?_

“Lazy possum,” a soft deep voice spoke from nearby, “Taking a little nap while everybody gets worried sick about you.”

With some effort, Ozzie managed to rotate his head enough to see a male raccoon in a clean-pressed ebony button-up shirt and faded blue jeans leaning on the bedside by his crossed arms, black lips set in that smirk the possum adored so much. A closer inspection caught traces of—relief; anger; maybe both—in those aquatic depths for eyes.

Despite some lingering numbness, the possum managed a throaty chuckle. “I don’t suppose you can enlighten me on what happened; my memory is a bit fuzzy at the moment.”

Aqua blue contorted, the only part of that lovely visage that did.

“Midnicampum holicithias,” RJ stated point blank, face collected and unchanged. Ozzie still caught the dark look that streaked across the other mammal’s eyes. Not that the observation spurred the possum to comment on it; he had a distinct feeling RJ would elucidate the reason regardless.

Besides, he knew better than to interrupt when RJ got this way.

At his mate’s blank stare, the raccoon softened his smirk into a more genuine and concerned frown. “Night howlers. Some hack of Lionheart’s went around makin’ serums that made folks go nuts. ‘Member that news report we saw the week before Emmit went missing?”

Ice-blue eyes crinkled in remembrance, reaching past muddled memories to their predecessors. He shivered instantly. Yes, that report still haunted him, though not as much as the questions running rampant through his tired worried mind once it started putting the pieces together.

_The same happened to me, too, didn’t it?_

The epiphany caused him to break eye-contact in shame. His memory, free from the numbness of sleep, finally began recalling muddled snippets of moving fast, moving slow, screaming and whimpering, lashing and hiding. Of his family staring through glass, all their expressions different yet all speaking of despair and fear.

Of himself charging into the barrier, blood gushing from burst wounds yet receiving no heed, the possum too intended on breaking out, erasing all these faces that invoked anger in him for reasons he never considered, never questioned.

How many had he hurt before the hospital? _Who_ had he hurt?

Wait—wide-eyed and heartbeat racing fast, Ozzie shot up into an upright position, ignoring the flutter in his stomach at the feel of a firm hand against his lean chest. Deep breath, he told himself, deep breath. “Is Emmitt alright?”

RJ’s countenance shifted into a sincere one. “Easy, buddy. Your fellow soul-nerd is A-Okay.”

With a grateful sigh, Ozzie flopped back on the bed, hands crossed over his abdomen. The heavy thoughts did not depart, though. He felt the bed quiver when RJ laid down next to him, hands behind his head and legs crossed as if they were back home after a slow day.

That gesture comforted him beyond words.

“You realize they’re going to kick you out for that, right?” the possum did not even look, the joking tone he normally used lacking in its playfulness. He knew just as well as RJ did how forced his words sounded, not that the raccoon didn’t appreciate (let alone understand) the attempt.

They both needed the distraction.

“I realize; I just don’t care,” RJ smartly returned, also without looking, “Those verbs aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“You,” the possum sighed with a head-shake, the dawn of a smile upturning the corners of his lips, “are incorrigible.”

“Keep usin’ that fancy vocab, my King.” RJ pinched his right pointer finger and thumb together. “We’re _this_ close to reenacting our doctor kinks.”

At last Ozzie spared his mate an exasperated glance. “Wait until we’re back home. Speaking of which—”

“Doc gave the green light for everybody; the gang came stampeding the sec I told ‘em.” Finally staring back, RJ eye-rolled at Ozzie’s suspicious brow-raise. “Please. Ya really think little ol’ me,” and put a paw to his chest, “could bribe the healthcare system. You can thank our little family of misfits for that. They’re damn good at being an angry mob.”

_I certainly would not put the accountability past you._ Especially considering the Waffle Incident from last year.

All the same, part of Ozzie relished the warmth and security brought on by the other mammal’s proximity. Resisting the urge to grab the raccoon’s calloused hand (for now), he instead sat up and gently nudged his partner off the mattress. After a cursory sweep of the room he found his clothes, clean and neatly folded, set up on the small table next to the bed, opposite from where RJ had been.

A chaste kiss to his left cheek reminded him of his mate’s presence.

With a knowing half-smile at the smirking raccoon, Ozzie swept a hand at the door in a ‘alright, you can leave now’ manner. Best to keep RJ’s naughty eyes waiting for an opportune time.

To the marsupial’s relief, the procyon raised his hands in mock surrender and slowly backed towards the door. This ring-tailed charlatan knew when to take a hint—except he paused on the threshold for a moment and cast a smarmy grin over his shoulder.

“Nice ass, by the way.”

Ozzie could not change out of his gown fast enough.


	12. At Your Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in an AU where RJ never stole Vincent’s food, but still has to fulfill ‘runs’ for the bear in exchange for protection. When Vincent bumps up the quota for next spring in the last minute, though, RJ decides to acquire some helpers. 
> 
> It turns out as well you’d expect. 
> 
> Disclaimer: let’s all be serious. How could any of these characters possibly belong to a lazy head like me?

RJ winced as his...’acquaintance’ helped him ease down onto the grass, the tall tree offering support for his aching back.

“That was a rather awful spill back there,” Ozzie commented as he backed up to give the raccoon healing space, “will you be alright until I get back?”

A faint laugh burst from RJ’s lips, a slight mistake on account of the resultant ache in his side. Nothing excruciating but enough of a warning to make him rethink about jostling the injury. Regardless he managed a sly upward smirk at the older mammal.

“What? Tired of me already?”

Out of all the reactions RJ anticipated, none of them included the soft warm huff that smoothly transitioned into a bouncy jovial chuckle. Or the way those crossed ivory-furred arms bunched against that fluffy chest as though to contain the possum’s laughter.

RJ struggled to ignore the heat in his cheeks.

“You’ll have to try harder than that, I’m afraid,” Ozzie replied once his mirth settled down, shoulders shrugging in faux apology. He heartily patted his fellow animal’s shoulder with assurance that he’ll return soon before walking off in the log’s direction.

Leaving RJ with only the nocturnal silence and his own thoughts for company, thoughts that started to drift back to the lifestyle that landed him here in the first place.

_Now listen up, squirt. You’ve been hearing ‘bout a new human place cropping up nearby, right?_

_Is this about the food? Cuz last time I checked, your stash looked pretty stacked already._

_Faster than a whip as usual. Ya see I’ve been hearin’ rumors ‘bout how this here’s winter might get rougher than usual, so I’ve decided to bump up the rations._

_You gotta be kidding me. It’s the last week before winter, man!_

_Guess you gonna hafta pick up the pace then, RJ. Shouldn’t be a problem for_ you, _though. You know much humans love ta splurge on their food._

_Tch. As if I didn’t? Will my payload at least see a corresponding bump-up, too?_

_Now let’s not be_ that _quick, RJ. You should know by now that I pay judging by quality of service. Just push yourself enough to put your rounds from last year ta shame._

_...Right._

_Oh and, uh, don’t be afraid to ask for helpers if you need extra hands. Long as they get the job done on time, I won’t care less about what ya do with ‘em afterwards. As long as you’re not dumb enough to get attached to ‘em. Remember—_

“Kindness gets you dead or eaten,” present-day RJ found himself uttering like a mantra before pinching his eyelids to ward off the growing drowsiness. When was the last time he had a good night’s sleep?

Ugh, never mind that. He had two days left to report to Vincent—the last day prior to winter—before the bear decided to hunt the raccoon down himself for answers. RJ needed to think up a way of getting all the stored food to the cave before the deadline without Ozzie and the others noticing.

Unfortunately tonight did not appear to be that night. Damn sprinkler systems.

Before the raccoon could mentally gripe any further, Ozzie emerged back-first from the bushes as he dragged a red First-Aid case with both hands towards the tree. Upon reaching RJ, he set the case directly in front of his fellow animal and opened the case to reveal fresh bandages and other curative items. Then he sat down on his knees next to RJ and gestured a hand to the supplies, much to the raccoon’s surprise since he half-expected the marsupial to assert further assistance.

“If you need any help addressing your wounds, I’m right here.”

RJ uttered a committal grunt before he proceeded to do as such. Normally he’d have whipped up a more suave response, a way of dodging the oncoming coddling, but weeks of dealing with the old man and his constant mothering had left the raccoon impatient whenever it was just the two of them.

Not that receiving the possum’s treatment of him felt _bad._ RJ just couldn’t wrap his mind around the genuineness in those glacial blue eyes every time they shared gazes. Or the gentleness in that whiskered smile every time RJ denied needing anything.

The old man always treated him with complete compassion, even from the get-go. Not that the foragers (besides that paranoid turtle) viewed or treated him any differently, instantly suckered by his theatrical displays and promises of food, food, and more food.

But while the others always approached RJ as though they knew he had everything in control and Verne viewed him as chaos incarnate, Ozzie...

In all fairness, RJ initially pegged the possum to be the kind of guy to make sure _everyone_ got their needed nutrients and went to bed on time. Not an entirely wrong presumption—next to Verne, Ozzie could take the award for ‘Most Likely to Faint from Concern’. Not that the compulsive playing-dead did the old man any favors either aside from inciting a good honest laugh.

At the same time, RJ had witnessed moments over the weeks that added surprising nuances to his initial perception of the possum.

“Of course if you and your pride would prefer _someone else_ taking care of you for a change, I’ll gladly oblige.”

Like that.

RJ scoffed, ignoring inner embarrassment at how he’d paused so long in fixing himself up, before finally applying the gel pack to his waist and reaching his free hand towards a bandage wrap. “If this is the sort of situation where you flirt, Doc, I should get injured more often.”

“Please don’t,” Ozzie tilted his head exasperatedly though his wry grin remained. “There are _so_ many healthier ways to gain attention from your crush.” The look of bummed-out-ness in RJ’s eyes got him chuckling, his head angled teasingly. “Oh? You mean that _wasn’t_ your intention?”

Wow, this old man.

Shaking his head, the smirking raccoon bit off the bandage and tucked the end in, mindful not to touch his injury. Once he finished and stowed away the roll, he lay back against the tree trunk and angled his head back enough to see the stars.

All the while trying to fight back the encroaching dread gnawing at the back of his mind, hoping against hope not to hallucinate Vincent’s sneering mug looming ahead in the cosmos. Or that dark guttural voice mocking his imagination, warning him to hurry up and depart with the necessities while the opportunity remained ripe.

_Leave behind these chumps. What good will they ever do you? They’ll get screwed over by life soon anyway, just like everybody else blinded into the ‘joys’ of family life. You don’t deserve getting dragged down with the rest of them._

Eyes of aqua found themselves drifting to the older male and his closed-eyed soft smiling face, pink-tipped fingers absentmindedly tapping the fur of his lean stomach, bare tail fluctuating like ocean waves on a calm summer day.

RJ wanted to live, but...he wouldn’t mind if all these guys got to live, too. They were sappy and clingy but they had loyalty in spades, knew how to brighten up a lousy day. Maybe if he played his cards right, pitched the idea to Verne _just right_ —the raccoon scrunched his face in surrender. No way would _Verne_ agree. And whatever he went against, chances were the others would follow as well.

Unless...

RJ dared another glance at Ozzie.

On one paw, the possum tended to come off as eccentric and absentminded. Not to mention he could be a throw pillow. Not the most inspiring qualities, at least not at first glance. On the other, the possum also had a way of garnering trust without needing pretense, and gave off a sense of calm that could set even Verne at ease. Besides weren’t age and wisdom supposed to guarantee that people will listen to you?

Someone like that could help RJ earn everyone’s support. Question is would he even _want_ to help if the raccoon told him? Because if not...

RJ had no idea how long he kept staring before Ozzie’s soft assuring voice broke through the reverie.

“If you’d like to ask me something, you’re more than free to.”

The raccoon offered a halfhearted smirk. “Even if it involved possible death?”

Ozzie missed not a single beat, eyes still closed. “Something that hovers over our heads the moment we’re born?”

Touché. RJ shrugged. “Well it’s nothing different from what we’ve already been doing. Just gotta up the workload so this guy I work for won’t come crashing through the hedge two days from now.”

This time the marsupial angled an open eye at RJ. “And this guy is...?”

“A bear,” RJ replied in a tone too flippant for the dread hanging over his head, “A really, really big bear.”

Ozzie’s eyes, now in full view, hung heavy on the younger mammal. His voice remained still and calm yet had lost its earlier joviality. “Murderous?”

“More or less.” The concerned stare cut RJ deep, and something in his gut curled at the sight of it as well. The raccoon reigned in a discomfited snarl; he managed to reduce it to a toothy sneer. The striped tail swatted the air between the two animals as if to form a wall. “What? Not all of us get to have a cozy little family to snuggle up to.”

Not that he expected this naïve old-timer to get what he meant.

That bitter tone of voice failed to wipe away the softness in Ozzie’s eyes. If anything the possum only intensified the look, face creasing from a deepening frown. Heck, even those perky ears of his pressed against the skull as though out of apology.

Crap, the man looked too innocent (not cute!) overall to stay mad at now. RJ, losing resolve against all better judgement and cool-guy instincts, shifted his eyes back to the night sky.

_‘Yep, I am a goner.’_

His breath left as a wistful sigh. “Look. You guys have a good thing going on, with or without the food. Living out there on your own?” He gestured his head to the world outside the hedge. “It sucks. You gotta do whatever the hell keeps you fed and in one piece. That also means you can’t risk getting close to people or letting them get close to you.”

The raccoon scoffed drily. “Especially if you’re me. Big ol’ trouble magnet.”

Cause that’s how the story of his life went. Ever since his times as a runt scourging around for food, anybody who treated him nicely wound up either dead or captured by humans. To be fair, Vincent probably had something do with half of that, considering he practically raised the raccoon.

Well, if pushing a teenager around with insults and threats of either abandonment or starvation counted as raising someone.

A flinch went through him when a warm and calloused hand took his own, the feeling alien to a loner like him, but relaxed once the thumb started rubbing slow deep circles into his palm. Ozzie had surprisingly strong fingers for his age, RJ noticed.

The raccoon shook his head yet did not pull away from the possum’s grasp, too enticed by the warmth. Nor did he recoil when Ozzie gathered him into a hug that cradled the raccoon’s head against his white fluffy chest. RJ couldn’t help a weak smile as he listened to the possum’s steady heartbeat.

“A shame you feel that way about yourself, RJ. You’re an absolute delight to have around.” At the masked bandit’s scoff, Ozzie chuckled in that paternal manner that should have made the raccoon want to roll his eyes. “You breathe a particular brand of vivacity into our affairs, although you should do something about that vanity of yours.”

A moment of silence passed as the two critters stared at one another. To the possum’s surprise, RJ suddenly nudged him away with a good-mannered guffaw. “A particular brand of vivacity? How do you dream this stuff up, possum?”

Ozzie scratched his cheek with a bashful chortle, eyes crinkling. “Blame the thespian in me.” His face resumed its former seriousness. “I mean what I said though. There’s more to you than the trouble that allegedly follows you.”

RJ snorted at the sentiment this time, his smile still there but now more forced to hide away the feeble hope. Folks like him never deserved folks like Ozzie and the other foragers. For that reason, the raccoon kept his stare on the trees in the distance.

“Whatever you say, old man.” He tried not to feel like garbage at hearing Ozzie’s resigned sigh.

“All the same,” the possum continued as he stood up and dusted the dirt off his torso, “we still owe you a great deal for teaching us how to survive in this new world. Like it or not, nearly all of us have taken fondly to you, so whatever you need, whatever it takes for you to feel happy and safe,” he reached over and pressed a firm hand on RJ’s shoulder, “say the word.”

As the marsupial walked away into the dark underbrush, RJ looked to the First-Aid case. His mind tumbled over everything he’d gone through since meeting everyone.

Hammy’s hugs.

Stella’s jokes.

Heather’s frankness.

The triplets’ enthusiasm.

Lou and Penny’s friendliness.

Even Verne’s dorkiness.

And Ozzie laying there by the raccoon’s side, eyes closed to the world in bliss and smile fit to put the most affluent king to shame...

Curling in on himself, RJ bumped his forehead against his knees with a flummoxed grimace and a barely suppressed groan.

“I am so screwed."


End file.
